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Book ■ r- ' 


Copyright N° i \~\ 

Cfi 

COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 


































IN SINGAPORE 
The Story of a Strange Search 



Page 96 . 


WE THINK we’ve FOUND HIM FOR YOU.” 




























IN SINGAPORE 

The Story of a Strange Search 


By 

CLARENCE STRATTON 

Author of “Paul of France ” “Harbor Pirates 
and “Robert the Roundhead ” 


Illustrated by 

HAROLD CUE 




BOSTON 

LOTHROP, LEE & SHEPARD CO. 














1 





Copyright, 1932, 

By Lothrop, Lee & Shepard Co. 

All Rights Reserved 

In Singapore 



Printed in U. S. A. 

SEP 16 1932' 

® C1A 5 4 8 5 7 0 




M’era a grato 

Ubbedire alia mia celeste scoria . 


Dante 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER PAGE 

I Across the Indian Ocean . . .11 

II Tom and the Hoisting Engine . . 25 

III Calcutta, Penang, and Singapore . 38 

IV Sounds, Sights, and Smells ... 57 

V Ships May Start for Ports . . 67 

VI Gambling at “ The Yellow Poppy ” . 76 

YII Tom Learns Where His Father Works 91 
VIII Two Others Arrive in Singapore . 107 

IX A Son’s Rights over His Father . 120 

X The First Square Box . . .129 

XI Kipnaped . . . . . .143 

XII Heat-Lightning and Thunder . .154 

XIII All Chinamen Look Alike . . .164 

XIV Refined Torture . . . . .176 

XV The Smuggling Ring around the 

World ...... 193 

XVI Down the Dark Corridor . . . 204 

XVII Tom Watches a Game .... 215 

XVIII The Herb Dealer Gives Directions . 223 

6 





CONTENTS 


7 

CHAPTER 



PAGE 

XIX 

At the Top of the Steps . 


. 234 

XX 

Who Is Wan Tu? 


. 250 

XXI 

A Boatswain to Watch 


. 262 

XXII 

The Box Goes Overboard 


. 278 

XXIII 

Tom and Hanson Meet 


. 289 

XXIV 

Secret Service 


. 299 




ILLUSTRATIONS 


“ We think we’ve found him for you ” (Page 

96) ...... Frontispiece 

PAGE 

The silent figure of the ship’s Chinese cook . . 17 

The bale struck him squarely where Thomas had 

aimed it . . . . . . . .35 

Some little picture of unbelievable charm . . 51 

His ship was close in . . . . .59 

Men and ships had gone down .... 73 

The coins dropped with a clatter .... 88 

The drifting sailors . . . . . .100 

The jinricksha grated over the roadway . .109 

Thomas rushed to his window . . . .127 

“He’s carrying that package now!” . . . 140 

A huge brown hand closed Thomas’s half-open 

mouth ........ 150 

The oarsman noticed the change . . . .159 

The glow fell about him . . . . .174 

“You’re not accusing my father of theft!” . . 186 

Yet always the packages evaded the officials . 202 

8 





ILLUSTRATIONS 


9 


Wan Tu flashed the light about . 

“ We may have to sit here for hours ” 

“ Cut out the proverbs! ” 

His left fist landed with terrific force . 

The patient went through a distressing period 
Slim brown boys dived for coins . 

“ Send this! ” he cried .... 

She lost her grip on the umbrella 

Secret service ...... 


PAGE 

212 

218 

227 

248 

256 

275 

284 

293 

304 



IN SINGAPORE 


CHAPTER I 

ACROSS THE INDIAN OCEAN 

Thomas Dubois, with his knees drawn up under 
his chin, sat on the forward hatch-covering of the 
sturdy steamer Portlander and for the fiftieth 
time that day exclaimed half aloud: 

“ Can water anywhere be bluer than this! ” 

Never had he seen such depth of blue—deeper 
than the water in the beautiful Mediterranean, 
more radiant than the colors of the Red Sea, more 
brilliant than any blue he had seen in the velvety 
nights of the mid-Atlantic. The Indian Ocean was 
casting a spell over him and he felt that he would 
ask nothing more of Life than to let him float 
across it forever, just as he was doing on this 
glorious late afternoon, with the sun blazing from 
the west over the spreading wake of the steamer. 

He rubbed his knees gratefully, because the 
shadow of the deck structure and the approach of 
sunset made the air cooler and fresher. Then he 
let his eyes roam over all he could see of the 
Portlander . 


11 


12 


IN SINGAPORE 


She was an ordinary cargo ship with a rather 
stumpy nose of a prow and no speed worth speak¬ 
ing of, but to Thomas she was the most adven¬ 
turous boat that had ever crossed the Atlantic and 
crawled through the Suez Canal. Hadn’t she 
brought him carefully out among the impertinent 
tugs and the haughty transatlantic liners and the 
troublesome beetle-like ferryboats of the lower 
harbor from the smelly freight docks of Brooklyn? 
And wouldn’t she soon be carrying him past the 
fabled island of Ceylon, along the spice-laden 
coasts of India, and up the wriggling river to 
story-book Calcutta? 

No; he changed his wish. His desire was not to 
go on like this forever, but to go on as rapidly as 
the throbbing engines of the good old Portlander 
could push her towards the goal of his venture¬ 
some voyage to the Far East. 

The boy’s face changed as his eyes, gazing past 
the gently dipping and rising railing of the high 
bow deck, fixed themselves on the vast empty 
space beyond. Here he was in the Indian Ocean, 
surrounded by the most glorious blues that ocean 
waters know, with a golden orange sun disk rapidly 
slipping into the misty west. But Tom’s glance 
saw none of these beauties. His mind rested on 
none of these tropical changes. His thoughts were 
six thousand miles away, in a crowded city, in a 


ACROSS THE INDIAN OCEAN 13 

narrow dining-room, where he and Bill Johnson, 
his lifelong companion, listened to the latter’s gray¬ 
haired mother, who was finishing her story. 

She pushed a crumpled sheet of foreign-looking 
paper across the table towards Thomas. 

“ And that’s the last we ever heard of him—any 
of us,” she concluded solemnly. 

Thomas gazed at the fateful letter. 

“ From Penang,” muttered Bill, repeating one 
of his mother’s phrases in a professional manner; 
for Bill worked for an importing silk firm and 
possessed an accurate knowledge of the geography 
of the Orient. 

Tom’s eyes seemed charmed by the insignificant 
scrap of paper. He could not bring himself to 
touch it—yet. It was the only existing link be¬ 
tween him and his unknown and long-lost father, 
that shadowy yet real person about whom Mrs. 
Johnson had tried to tell him all she knew. Her 
knowledge was little enough, for Dubois, just 
arrived from the interior of the United States, 
traveling in an attempt to forget the death of the 
young wife he had married in Guatemala, had not 
talked much. Finally the desire for wandering had 
become irresistible and he had entrusted this child 
to her, with the assurance of regular payments for 
his maintenance. 

“ Then he shipped to the East,” was about all 


14 


IN SINGAPORE 


that Mrs. Johnson could say, as she had repeated 
to Thomas over and over again for years. 

“ His notes told me where his ships had touched,” 
she had explained, “ and for a long time the money 
came regular.” 

“ I’m glad of that,” Thomas always answered. 

“ Then—after that letter—all news stopped,” 
she wound up. 

“ Penang—that’s in the Malay Peninsula,” Bill 
added. 

Thomas stretched out his hand to pick up his 
father’s last message. He looked at the faded 
words on the discolored sheet and repeated parts 
aloud. 

“ Feeling better than ever,” he read. “ Going 
on to Singapore. Let you hear from there. Don’t 
let little Tom forget me.” 

That was all. 

The three sat silent for a time. Then Thomas 
began to speak in a low voice. 

“ Anything could have happened—shipwreck, 
sunstroke, an accident, sickness—it’s terribly un¬ 
healthy out there. If I only knew. If I were only 
certain that he had died.” 

“ That’s what worries me. With sailors in my 
boarding-house,” Mrs. Johnson went on, to Tom’s 
apparent relief at the chance to cover his own true 
feelings, “ I’ve heard some awful disturbing yarns. 





ACROSS THE INDIAN OCEAN 15 

Men coming home years after their wives, believ¬ 
ing themselves widows, had married and were 
raising new families. Like that Enoch Arden 
poetry story your sister Anna used to cry over for 
school lessons. And men who forgot their names 
and homes for years and were lost to their rela¬ 
tives. Sailors’ lives are fascinating to them but 
awful wearing on the women folks left at home.” 

“ Don’t look at me. I didn’t go to sea,” her son 
Bill maintained stoutly, as he cast a pointed look 
at his companion. 

“No,” she admitted, “ but Tom, here, wants to. 
He’s not content with working on shore, drawing 
plans for boats and poking about them in port. 
He wants to take a long voyage on one. Might 
as well combine his work and try to get some news 
of his father. This chance made me get out this 
old letter.” 

“ It is a wonderful chance! ” Tom had burst out 
enthusiastically. “ You’re a brick to let me know. 

Bill.” 

For Bill was really responsible for this family 
conference. At the offices of his firm, The Peer- 
none Importing Corporation, he had chatted with 
the purser of the Portlander and had reported to 
Tom that the old fellow would like a clerk on the 
next voyage to the East. As Tom’s school vacation 
would permit it, he urged him to try to get into 


16 


IN SINGAPORE 


the graces of Old Penwiper, as the ship’s other 
officers jestingly called him. 

Tom’s mind was still thousands of miles away 
from the deck of the ship on which he was loung¬ 
ing, when he had a strange feeling that curious 
eyes were fastened upon him. Slowly at first he 
recalled his concentrated wits to the surroundings 
of the ship. A blast of curses and a shuffling of 
heavy feet on the bow deck brought him back with 
a start. As he recognized the surly voice he mut¬ 
tered to himself: 

“That terrible bo’s’n!” 

Then he laughed aloud as he recalled his earliest 
knowledge of this man. When he first jumped at 
the sound of his brutal orders he had shaken the 
desk so much that Old Penwiper looked over his 
bifocal glasses and rapped out: 

“ It’s only that Eurasian.” 

Thomas had never heard that word before. To 
remember it he jotted it down on the desk blotter. 
But he spelled it “ You Razian.” Later in the 
day he found his spelling neatly crossed out and 
above it, in Old Penwiper’s neat British handwrit¬ 
ing, the correct word, “ Eurasian.” Even then the 
word puzzled Thomas. Suddenly he saw in it the 
term “ Asian.” The “ Eu ” must come from 
“European.” It was as plain as daylight; a 
Eurasian had one parent Asian, the other Euro- 


ACROSS THE INDIAN OCEAN 17 



THE SILENT FIGURE OF THE SHIP’S CHINESE COOK. 









































18 


IN SINGAPORE 


pean. How terrible if all Eurasians were like this 
boatswain of the Portlander! 

Yet the scattering of the sailors to the duties 
of the first of the dog-watches did not remove 
Tom’s feeling that eyes were focused intently upon 
him. For a few seconds he fidgeted, growing more 
and more uncomfortable. Suddenly he swung 
around sharply. 

“ Oh, that’s all, is it? ” he muttered under his 
breath. 

Standing in a seldom opened iron door of the 
deck-house, in flapping pearl-gray pajamas, was 
the silent figure of the ship’s Chinese cook. 

Thomas would have called out, “ Hello, Sing 
Ho,” except that the fixed gaze of the Celestial 
restrained him. But he stared back just as hard. 

Suddenly the yellow false-face of Sing Ho, on 
which for weeks Thomas had seen not the slightest 
flicker of a smile, broke into a hundred wrinkles 
around a broad grin, and then one of the staring, 
slanting eyes slowly winked at Thomas. 

In astonishment Thomas blinked his eyes for 
just a second. When he looked again the doorway 
was empty. Sing Ho seemed to have vanished into 
thin air. 

Puzzle his brain as he might, Thomas could see 
no reason for the astonishing change in the frozen 
countenance of the Chinaman, from whom, during 


ACROSS THE INDIAN OCEAN 19 


the entire voyage, he had heard no sounds except 
a few mysterious grunts. Then there came to his 
mind the thought that perhaps Sing Ho was as 
much disgusted as he was by the bo’s’n’s brutality 
and had noticed Tom’s involuntary response to it 
as he sat on the hatch cover. That must be it. 
But who had taught a silent Chinese cook to 
express sympathy and understanding by a crafty 
wink? There was more in this, Thomas felt, than 
appeared on the surface. 

He must puzzle it out. 

The boatswain was not attractive to look at. 
His powerful body was too short. His bull 
shoulders were not even; they made him look 
almost as much bent forward as a hunchback. 
From the deep chest between them his short, broad 
neck thrust itself forward aggressively. He was 
so bow-legged that Thomas had remarked to Old 
Penwiper: 

“ He looks like a pair of parentheses waddling 
down the deck.” 

But his face was the most singular thing about 
him. In a ship’s company, where unusual types 
of men are frequent, where stunted bodies and 
scarred faces are regular details, where any strange 
nationality may appear, where stripling boys and 
hardened old sinners are thrown together for com¬ 
mon work in a restricted area—even in such a 


20 


IN SINGAPORE 


menagerie of human beings the face of the boat¬ 
swain was noticeable. 

His head was small for his thickset body, but as 
round as a baseball. His skin was deep red, not 
browned as were the skins of the other seamen. His 
close-cropped hair—light threads on his red skull— 
seemed never to grow any longer. There were few 
wrinkles in his face; instead of squinting in the sun, 
as a seaman’s eyes do naturally, his light blue eyes 
just blinked rapidly. But the shape of those eyes! 
They were not small, but full, large, and long. 
They began close to the top of his pudgy nose and 
stretched out in a sharply sloping line, until it 
seemed that they would leave no room for his tem¬ 
ples. They made Thomas wince every time he 
looked at them. No wonder the men in his watch 
hated the boatswain’s approach on deck, his com¬ 
mands in the hold, his shouts among the shrouds; 
for from those eyes, looking most of the time like 
the unmoving eyes of a dead fish on a dealer’s 
counter, there could spring the deadliest looks, and 
from his small, close-lipped mouth the most deadly 
oaths and most horrible threats. 

“ Scum of some Chinese swamp,” Thomas heard 
a sailor call him behind his back. 

“ How’d he get that name? ” asked his compan¬ 
ion as he rolled over beneath the lifeboat they were 
coating with sticky white paint. 


ACROSS THE INDIAN OCEAN 21 


“ Father named Hans, I’ll bet a thousand.” 

“ Calls himself Hanson, though.” 

“ Sure. Added 4 son ’ for use on British and 
American ships.” 

“ How much time do you suppose an American 
court would give a fellow for ridding the world of 
him? ” 

“ None of that, now,” laughed the other. “ We 
all grouch a lot, but none of us has the nerve.” 

They moved to the next lifeboat. Thomas dared 
not follow and thus betray his listening. 

As the ship approached the river entrance to Cal¬ 
cutta, nerves grew tense and tempers ragged. 
Thomas himself was all excitement and found even 
Old Penwiper unreasonable in insisting that land¬ 
ing papers and unloading blanks should be made 
out carefully and neatly. 

“ Stop wriggling! ” he called out. 44 When we’re 
in the river you’ll see enough different kinds of 
ship to satisfy your marine architect eyes. Though 
you’ll never want to design boats like most of 
them,” he added in a grumble. 

44 Sorry,” mumbled Thomas. 44 But India’s an 
old story to you. It’s my first trip! ” 

44 Well, get those blanks filled out properly and 
you’ll have all the more time in port to yourself.” 

The sailors were especially jumpy. They loafed 
over their work, they answered back when ordered 


22 


IN SINGAPORE 


about, they clenched their fists at one another, and 
sometimes pounded one another for a few seconds 
until the commands of their boatswain parted them. 
They appeared in pieces of treasured clothing saved 
for shore visits, totally unconscious that for the 
most part they made themselves look like guests 
at a masquerade party. 

Thomas could hardly suppress his laughter as 
he gazed in wonder at them. It was broiling hot on 
the glazed surface of the Indian Ocean, and the 
officers were comfortable in pajamas, or less. But 
the sailors sacrificed comfort for display. 

Sven, a lumbering blond Swede, with a brain 
rendered slow—some said by a touch of sun in the 
tropics, others by a severe blow on the head— 
swaggered about like a boy in his first long trou¬ 
sers. From his seaman’s chest he had dug out a 
heavy felt hat that perched insecurely on the top 
of his capacious skull. Designed for the frigid 
snows of Scandinavian winters, it was as inappro¬ 
priate for the Indian Ocean as anything that might 
be worn, yet it was Sven’s pride and treasure. 
Once, years ago, it had been black, but rough hand¬ 
ling and unsympathetic weather had turned it to 
a sick-looking green. It was much too small for 
Sven’s giant head. Its narrow brim was sportively 
turned down in front and up in the rear. Its crown 
was pushed into a sharp peak, high above. It 


ACROSS THE INDIAN OCEAN 23 


topped the awkward form of Sven like a tiny bird 
poised on the crest of a mountain. It was light 
and airy, and made you believe that at any moment 
Sven might astonish you by breaking into an amaz¬ 
ing series of acrobatic dance steps. 

Hanson’s nasty face almost smiled when he 
caught sight of the decoration as he rattled down 
the steps from the deck structure and saw Sven 
leaning idly against the side of the vessel. 

Thomas was too far away to hear what was 
said or to interfere in any manner by a look or a 
remonstrance. Then, too, what happened among 
the seamen was strictlv none of his business, no 
matter how his blood might boil with indignation. 

Hanson gave some sharp order to Sven. The 
Swede, always slow in getting into motion, was 
slower than ever,—slow enough to bring a curse 
from his driving master. A flash of manly intelli¬ 
gence surged over the Swede’s countenance just 
long enough to let him make some sharp retort. 
The boatswain stood aghast at the Swede’s rash¬ 
ness; but a look at his face showed that the idea of 
retaliating had been momentary only. The child¬ 
ish look of submission had settled over him again. 

In that instant’s pause Hanson’s first wave of 
rage had subsided, so Thomas knew that his next 
move was a deliberately planned act of malicious 
revenge. 



24 


IN SINGAPORE 


He swung his left hand, and Sven’s beautiful 
peaked head-covering went soaring into the air in a 
wide, graceful curve. It struck the water with a 
hollow flop, and in a second was a soaked and be¬ 
draggled and shapeless mess. 

Sven watched it disappear behind the ship in 
open-mouthed despair, while Hanson chuckled. 
Then the Swedish giant turned to face his tor¬ 
mentor. Slowly he raised both fists high above 
his head and advanced with a deep roar. 

“ If he falls on Hanson now, he’ll mash him 
flat,” Thomas said to himself. 

Hanson never moved. He merely swung his 
right hand into the enraged Swede’s range of 
vision. His fingers gripped a monkey-wrench 
nearly two feet long. Some recollection of an 
earlier blow on the head swept into the bewildered 
Sven’s brain; he unclenched his fists to cover his 
eyes; and his angry roar changed to a plaintive wail 
of misery. 

The boatswain moved on to the forecastle. 

“ I wish I could get even with you for that!” 
Thomas heard himself exclaim as he hurried along 
the deck to spare himself the sight of the tortured 
Sven. 


CHAPTER II 


TOM AND THE HOISTING ENGINE 

When, a few days later, the Portlander entered 
the unreal Ganges, Thomas could hardly hold him¬ 
self from wild and unrestrained acts of excitable 
folly. He envied the crew who had to unfasten the 
coverings of the hatches, to tighten bolts on the 
donkey engines about the decks, to thread ropes 
through pulley blocks, to string lines of electric 
lights down dark and smelly hatches. 

He talked to every one on board; that is, to every 
one except Sing Ho, who remained the only person 
on the ship not stirred up over the prospect of 
landing in story-book Calcutta. He even tried 
to talk to the Chinaman, but the dull stare from 
the eyes, and the tightly drawn wrapping-paper 
skin of the face so dampened his spirits that he 
stopped in the middle of a jumbled sentence, 
shrugged his shoulders, turned on his heel, and 
hurried away to join a group in animated but idle 
discussion around a rusty hoisting engine from 
which a dozen spurts of wasted steam were puffing. 
Every person had advice to offer for making the 
steam stay in the pipes, but Thomas noticed that 
no one raised a monkey-wrench or tightened a joint. 

25 


26 


IN SINGAPORE 


“ Bad as Sing Ho; all of them,” he thought as 
he passed to an opened hatch, from which sounds 
of loud argument rose to the deck. 

But Thomas was soon to learn that Sing Ho was 
not so detached from the management of ship 
duties as he seemed to be; that the sleepy-eyed 
Oriental did not attend so blindly only to his own 
kitchen work as he appeared to be doing. 

The group of advisers leaning over the leaking 
hoisting engine finally exhausted their suggestions 
for making the heap of junk iron steam-tight. The 
oiler from the engine room, sent to make it work¬ 
able for the next day’s swinging and landing of 
cargo, had gazed at its rips and seams as long as he 
dared. He was torn between two feelings. This 
was his allotted post for discharging cargo. Yet, 
if the engine could not be made to work, could he be 
given any other job? All the other hoisting engines 
had their quota of men to operate them. Could he 
by hook or by crook get shore leave? It was worth 
thinking over. So he wriggled on his side, slid on 
his back, and peered about and in and under with 
his bleary eyes. 

He tapped with a hammer here, and pulled with 
a bar there, and tightened or loosened with his 
wrench everywhere. Suddenly a nut at which he 
was tugging sprang loose with a grunt. A joint 
split apart and a fountain of hissing steam and 


TOM AND THE ENGINE 27 

boiling water gushed out and struck the palms of 
the hands that he instinctively held out to protect 
his face. An idler quickly turned off the main pipe 
valve, while the bungler, shaking his arms in pain, 
hurried down to the engineer’s room to have oil 
poured over his burns. 

Late that night only the prowling Sing Ho saw 
an older man quickly put that donkey engine into 
condition. 

It was Sing Ho, also, who next morning no¬ 
ticed that this engine was the only one with no man 
operating it. It was this same undemonstrative 
cook who observed the second engineer coming 
along the deck, bound to discover that one unit of 
his scheme for discharging cargo was not working. 
It was this same unchanging Oriental who padded 
along in his straw slippers until he found Thomas 
in enchanted contemplation of the distant river 
bank, touched him on the shoulder, and then, with 
never even a grunt, pointed forward towards the 
raving Scotchman who was demanding of all 
powers in heaven and earth why no one was 
“ standing by ” here. 

The boy drew closer. 

Thomas could just make out through the sneezes 
and burrs of the thick Scotch speech: 

“ Is this where that scamp of an oiler scalded his 
hands? ” 


28 


IN SINGAPORE 


“ Yes,” ventured Thomas, to save the man from 
a stroke of apoplexy. 

“ And no one to work her! ” the thin Scotchman 
added, looking in his dark clothes for all the world 
like a long slate pencil. 

The two gazed sadly at the rusty machine as 
though it were an object of great rarity. The 
Scotchman tugged at his back pockets and finally 
dragged to light two enormous gloves. 

“ Could you run the thing? ” He appealed to 
Thomas with a dirty cloth glove in each extended 
hand. 

“ Certainly,” Thomas answered; but he did not 
touch the gloves. 

“ Will ye? ” 

“ What about union rules and all the other little 
matters? ” 

“ Do you belong to any union yourself—the Sea¬ 
man’s, for instance? ” 

“ None,” Thomas assured him. 

“ Well, if we get close to the wharves, drop the 
levers and throw the gloves overboard—no, not 
overboard,” he corrected, gazing at them carefully. 
“ Put them under the crossbars, so they won’t blow 
away, and just stroll off.” Then he added as a 
promise of reward, “ The quicker we get all the 
cargo on deck for quick movement, the more 
chances for shore leave.” 




TOM AND THE ENGINE 29 

Thomas slipped the gloves on, stepped to the 
little iron platform, and released the brake with his 
foot. ITe felt a delightful tingle run over him as 
the drum of the engine spun round, and the heavy 
block at the end of the tackle disappeared in the 
depths of the ship’s hold. 

“ Anybody below? ” bellowed the Second En¬ 
gineer. 

“ Aye, aye, sir,” came up from the dark depths. 

“ Make fast, then.” 

Thomas watched the tackle swaying about. 

“Haul away!” the Scotchman called to him, 
making at the same time a peculiar motion with 
his enormous paws. 

Thomas concentrated on the two levers in his 
hands. He felt that the right hand must control 
the hoisting. He moved it. The steam hissed as 
the weight held it. The engine wheezed, the piston 
struggled, the large drum moved, then raced 
around, and a huge case darted past the deck and 
soared like a balloon towards the top of the mast. 

“ Where ye sending it? ” yelled the Second En¬ 
gineer. “ To Heaven? ” 

Thomas dropped the lever and the case spun 
round and round in the air. 

“ Lower away.” 

When it was five feet above the deck Thomas 
remembered the lever in his left hand. He moved 


30 


IN SINGAPORE 


it slightly. The case swung clear of the open 
hatchway, so that it could be deposited on the deck. 

“ Ye’ll do, if ye don’t fly too high,” approved 
his superior. “ Now I’ll get a man to signal ye. 
Can ye stand the gaff? ” 

Tom’s only answer was a saucy ugly face with 
a smile in the middle of it. 

After he had placed a layer of huge cases about 
the deck Thomas discovered that he need not be 
so careful, for he was raising nothing but huge 
rounded bales of soft material. 

And when he had almost finished the remaining 
three hours of his watch he could have cried with 
delight, for the gods of the ocean, or the fates them¬ 
selves, delivered the Eurasian boatswain into his 
power. The circumstances were more than any 
youth could resist. 

Thomas had become strangely conscious that a 
pair of intent eyes were watching him. In an in¬ 
terval of using both hands and one foot on levers 
and brake, he turned his eyes behind him to the 
upper rail of the deck-house. This time he was 
not astonished to discover Sing Ho lazily scanning 
the shores of the river and the hazy blue sky above. 

“ Even he sniffs the land,” Thomas said aloud. 

The Chinaman seemed to see everything that 
occurred, even when he was not apparently looking 
in the direction of the action. His eyes dropped 


TOM AND THE ENGINE 


31 


straight at Tom’s, then swept to the far side of the 
deck on which the hoisting engine stood, his look 
accompanied by the merest shrug of his right 
shoulder. 

“ He doesn’t wink every time,” Thomas mentally 
noted. “ Did he wink at me the other day, or was 
I only seeing things? ” 

He turned his own eyes across the tops of pack¬ 
ing- cases and bales of freight in the direction in 
which Sing Ho was gazing, until he saw three heads 
bobbing about. Hanson and two of his watch had 
emerged from the forecastle and were busy with 
some part of the ship’s tackle. Soon the boatswain 
finished his directions to the men. His grating 
voice ceased, but Thomas caught sight of a flapping 
hand above the opening hatch and had to lower 
away. 

For five minutes he worked steadily, carefully 
placing the squashy soft bales, until there seemed 
no safe space for any more. He swung what must 
be the last one clear of all those on deck and held 
it poised in the air until some resting-place could 
be found or cleared for it. 

Then he had leisure to look again for Sing Ho 
and Hanson. No glance, no sign came from the 
squinting Chinese cook. His face might have been 
carved from yellow stone. Hanson had forgotten 
ship duties and was thinking only of the land. To 


32 


IN SINGAPORE 


see better, he had scrambled upon one of the pack¬ 
ing-cases and now stood, a bow-legged, dark figure, 
clearly marked against the brightening sky. 

“ What a chance! ” thought Thomas. 

The lever in his left hand moved ever so slightly 
and with its motion the bale on the hook swayed 
from side to side in the air. If the ship had been 
rolling ever so little, that bale would have swung 
like a pendulum across the deck from one rail to 
the other. 

Well, why not? 

Thomas swept his eyes swiftly up to the front 
of the deck-house. Sing Ho was seeing nothing. 
Not a chin or nose or cap visor protruded from 
the officers’ bridge. The two sailors had disap¬ 
peared behind the piles of cases. Not a soul was 
paying the slightest attention to Thomas. 

He knew that his watch was almost finished. At 
any second the ship’s bell might ring and with it 
there would appear from the dark passageway be¬ 
hind him the man from the engine-room crew to 
take over his station for the next four hours. 

Dare he risk it? 

All these thoughts passed quickly through his 
mind. Before he had made any decision for him¬ 
self, his left hand had acted automatically. The 
lever controlling the sideward movement of the 
arm of the hoisting crane began to move down, then 


TOM AND THE ENGINE 33 

up. Thomas could not force himself to look at the 
machinery. 

His eyes were fixed for a second on the swaying 
mass in the air. Then he shifted them to the ex¬ 
pansive seat of Hanson’s soiled trousers. The bale 
was swinging beautifully now, and, what was more 
to his delight, absolutely silently. The exercise 
that the blocks and tackle had been getting for 
three hours had finally made them work with per¬ 
fect rhythm and smoothness. 

There must be no tell-tale squeak! 

The soft mass was covering fifteen feet in its 
flight now, yet it moved so slowly that it made no 
swish through the air, at least not enough to be 
heard above the swish of the ship through the 
water. 

And still Hanson did not move! 

And still no one saw what was happening! 

A qualm pricked Tom’s conscience. That bale 
weighed several hundred pounds. If it fell on a 
man it might crush him. He caught his breath. 
Then he forced himself to examine the huge mass 
carefully. It was not solidly packed. It was so 
soft that its edges were curved and its corners 
mashed in. A blow from it could knock an ele¬ 
phant off his feet, yet be so carefully struck that 
his skin would not even be bruised. 

Tom swept any thought of hesitation from him. 


34 IN SINGAPORE 

If he could only land the bale on that bulging 
back pocket! 

The huge mass was now swinging within three 
feet of the blissfully unconscious Hanson. It 
seemed unbelievable that he could not hear it. The 
substitute engine tender watched it poise behind 
the boatswain and then begin its graceful returning 
curve. 

From the corner of his eye he saw Hanson move. 
Was he going to get down from his perch? It was 
an anxious moment. No; he merely hitched up 
his trousers, making that irritating expanse all the 
more luring a target. 

Over to the left swayed the brown bale. It 
stopped. It hung motionless. Would it never start 
on its return flight? 

Slowly it began its backward swing. 

Thomas was tense with emotion. He could 
hardly stand still. He gazed at the catapult to 
make it move faster by mere force of his will. 
After an agonizing pause it began to move across 
the deck, gathering momentum as it moved. 

Then Tom’s left hand moved the lever a few 
inches. There was a muffled spurt of steam. The 
swinging bale moved faster. 

“ That will carry it three feet farther! ” he whis¬ 
pered through his gritted teeth as he waited. 

Directly in the line of that extra three feet stood 


TOM AND THE ENGINE 35 


Hanson, rapturously dreaming of the pleasures of 
port. 



THE BALE STRUCK HIM SQUARELY WHERE THOMAS HAD 

AIMED IT. 


There was no sound as the bale struck him 
squarely where Thomas had aimed it. Both parties 
to the blow were too soft to make a resounding 
thud, but the blow was a powerful one. 

Hanson uttered a terrified roar as he was swept 
slowly from his stand on the packing-case. When 
the bale reached the limit of its swing, it retired 



















36 


IN SINGAPORE 


from the flying Eurasian’s posterior and left him 
moving through the air like a successful flying man. 
To Tom’s fascinated gaze his evolutions looked like 
those of a slowly starting pin-wheel. Over and 
over he turned as he sank in a wide curve from 
Tom’s vision. 

He could hear the astonished yells of the two 
seamen as they leaned over the rail. He heard a 
vigorous splash. Some one on the bridge shouted, 
“ Man overboard! ” Sing Ho winked once at the 
reckless young marine architect and then withdrew 
his head from the rail. Thomas wanted to dash to 
the side of the ship to see what had become of 
Hanson, but he was terrified by the risk of dis¬ 
covery. 

Hastily fixing the clutches of the engine, he re¬ 
treated to the depths of the dark passageway be¬ 
hind him and waited, leaning against the wall until 
his relief reached him. 

“ Here, put these gloves safely under a rod,” he 
told the young Filipino oiler. “ They belong 


“Me know. Jerry. Why you in here? Too 
hot outside, eh? ” 

i 

Thomas was willing to avoid any explanation. 
He nodded, and hurried along the corridor to the 
rear deck. 

Some one near the stern had flung a rope to the 



TOM AND THE ENGINE 


37 


swimming Hanson and had dragged him aboard. 
The sight of the infuriated man standing in a pud¬ 
dle of water was a relief to Thomas. Seamen of 
both watches were gathering in wonder and amuse¬ 
ment around the dripping creature. His own men 
were too terrorized to ask any questions, but the 
other watch openly guffawed at him. 

“ Couldn’t wait till we anchored to take a swim,” 
laughed one. 

“ Swim? ” retorted another. “ Getting swell. 
Took a quick Henglish plunge bath.” 

“ Who pulled him out? ” squeaked the tiniest 
able-bodied seaman on board. 

“ Ought to be thrown overboard hisself,” a dis¬ 
guised voice called from the interested group. 

Just then the comically vacant face of Sven ap¬ 
peared above a bale. 

“ Vhat’s oop? ” he asked stupidly. 

“ The bo’s’n very kindly went to look for your 
lost hat, you old Swede!” some one explained in 
a loud voice. 

Sven looked to see what Hanson was going to do. 
As he started forward the innocent Scandinavian’s 
countenance broke into an understanding grin that 
lasted four hours. 

Nobody on board could tell Hanson anything 
about his accident. And Thomas was never able 
to get a straight look from Sing Ho again. 


CHAPTER III 


CALCUTTA, PENANG, AND SINGAPORE 

Years later, when Thomas visited Calcutta the 
second time, he realized that he had seen most of it 
before, but there remained in his remembrance only 
a blurred and confused impression of that first day 
of rushing hither and thither in a city as unreal 
as the capital of Fairyland. 

He had tried to prepare himself for strange and 
astonishing sights, but nothing we see in anticipa¬ 
tion is like the sight itself. Thomas caught glimpses 
of the glowing embers and curling wisps of smoke 
that marked the burning of the faithful dead on 
the sacred steps. He saw the countless bathers in 
the holy water of the Ganges and had a passing 
recollection of the sunburnt bodies of American 
pleasure-seekers at a crowded beach on a scorching 
August afternoon. But these bathers were not 
acquiring a fashionable coat of tan; they were just 
naturally brown-skinned. Nor were they bathing 
for comfort or pleasure in the heat; they were car¬ 
rying out a serious religious duty. 

“ Cleanliness is next to godliness,” he remarked 
to his sprightly young guide, “ but that water 
doesn’t look very clean to me.” 

38 


CALCUTTA, PENANG, SINGAPORE 39 

The energetic young British colonial who had 
taken charge of him upon the deck of the Port¬ 
lander merely grunted. 

“ Wait till you see the way cows are treated,” 
was his puzzling response. 

He took Thomas along back streets that he might 
see how venerated the American domestic drudge 
was. Cows—to a normal boy always the most 
silly and awkward and brainless of country live 
stock—wandered aimlessly along the sidewalks. 
When weariness overtook them they flopped down 
in the middle of the busiest streets. No merchant 
drove them from before his shop. No hurrying 
pedestrian kicked their flanks to make a way. Fine 
ladies walked carefully around them. Automobiles 
jammed on their brakes to avoid striking them. 
Delivery carts turned aside to pass without dis¬ 
turbing them. 

Never in his wildest dreams had Thomas seen 
such an annoyance to traffic in a large city. Open- 
eyed and open-mouthed, he turned to young 
Smithers. 

“ Sacred! ” explained that young gentleman 
with a look of deep disgust on his freckled coun¬ 
tenance. 

Thomas might have been inclined to believe all 
Britishers quiet and dignified, slow to reply, and 
deliberate in their movements. But young Smith- 




40 


IN SINGAPORE 


ers, holding a clerkship in a Calcutta silk house, 
somewhat like that held by Bill Johnson at home, 
was the liveliest mite of humanity Thomas had 
ever met. 

He seemed to know everything, to be able to 
explain every difficulty. Thomas found it puzzling 
at first to understand his speech—he spoke of him¬ 
self as a “ dark ” instead of a clerk; he said he re¬ 
ceived only “ small pie ” when he meant “ small 
pay he called a trolley car a “ tram ” and an ele¬ 
vator a “ lift ”—but by looking where Smithers was 
pointing Thomas guessed right nearly every time 
he talked with him. 

Exactly like a country visitor in New York, 
Thomas gawked and strained at the marvelously 
beautiful and imposing buildings in the section 
called “ the City of Palaces,” to the evident delight 
of the young “ dark.” 

At first Thomas frankly held his nose in some 
alleys of the native district, called the Black Town, 
where Indians swarmed in low mud and rush 
hovels. 

“ Get used to smart smells if you plan to see 
the Orient,” advised Smithers, pointing up to some 
slowly wheeling buzzards drawn by some rotting 
carcass in the neighborhood. 

“ How can you stand it? ” demanded the sick¬ 
ened American. 




CALCUTTA, PENANG, SINGAPORE 41 

“ Not much worse than the hold of an old ship,” 
Smithers remarked cheerfully. 

“ You’re right,” his companion asserted. “ Only 
I’m not used to this. Can’t we get out of here 
quickly? ” 

The guide chuckled, dived under dark walls, and 
dodged round a few corners until Thomas breathed 
naturally again. Then he turned on the visitor 
from the western world with a bombardment of 
inquiries about his country. 

Was the Statue of Liberty so great? How tall 
was the highest skyscraper? Had Thomas seen 
Niagara Falls? Had he ever met Charlie Chaplin? 
Did California look like India? Were there still 
any negro slaves? Did Thomas know any who had 
been slaves? Were the football teams better than 
British university players? Why did schools have 
such long vacations? How much could a ‘ dark ’ 
earn a week? Was Thomas a Republican or a 
Democrat? Would the United States ever join 
the League of Nations? Were American girls 
such good sports and playfellows? Why do your 
cities permit so many murders? How could a fel¬ 
low get to be a cowboy? How did corn on the cob 
taste? And a hundred other questions that Thomas 
answered as best he could. 

To save himself Thomas started a questionnaire 

of his own. 


42 IN SINGAPORE 

Where was Smithers born? How had he 
moved from Manchester to Calcutta? Why? How 
many different religions in India? What games 
did he play? Had he ever seen a religious war? A 
sacred white elephant? Could he speak Hindu- 
stanee? How much was a rupee worth? Would 
he rather live in England? Were polo ponies ex¬ 
pensive? Why was lunch called ‘ tiffin ’ ? Had he 
ever been among the Himalayas? Had he ever 
had a sunstroke? 

“We call it a touch of the sun.” 

“ What does it do to you? ” 

“ Makes you balmy.” 

Tom’s face showed his lack of understanding. 

“ Puts kinks in your brain, you know. Makes 
you soft-headed. Forget things—even your name. 
Sometimes for years.” 

Thomas lapsed into silence. A “ touch of sun ” 
might have affected his father. 

Smithers respected his retirement for a second, 
then launched into a series of hints about “ carrying 
on,” as he expressed it, in strange cities of the East. 
Thomas never forgot the information that the pe¬ 
culiar, agile little fellow gave him. When that 
afternoon he saw the widening stretch of blue water 
between the racing mail liner and the stone pier 
where Smithers, with his legs squeezing an iron 
stanchion, was riotously waving a blood-red silk 


CALCUTTA, PENANG, SINGAPORE 43 

handkerchief in farewell, he felt a real lump in his 
throat at the thought that he might never see the 
likable chap again. That short association had 
made them feel like good old friends. 

With all his familiarity with plans and specifica¬ 
tions for ships, with all his visits to sailing and 
steam craft of all types and sizes, Thomas could 
hardly believe he was on a boat. The clean decks, 
the cool-smelling cork coverings in the passages, 
the compact light green cabins, the purring electric 
fans, the noiseless cabin and deck boys in thin silk 
costumes and brilliant head cloths, the soft-voiced 
staff of officers, and, above all, the speed of the 
enormous liner as she raced through the water—all 
this took his breath away. He felt enchanted. 

On the second day he shook himself doggedly 
to throw off the spell of the ship and the effect of 
his hours in Calcutta. He had a purpose in mak¬ 
ing this long voyage. He must let nothing—no 
matter how entrancing, no matter how enticing, no 
matter how hypnotizing—make him for a second 
forget that purpose. 

What had become of his father? 

Men on this liner had been sailing to these same 
Eastern ports month after month for years. Some 
of them before that had idled about in the smaller 
cities. Many had, no doubt, skirted along the tropic 
coast, running in and out of creeks and bays. With 


44 


IN SINGAPORE 


changing routes and shifting crews, many deserting 
and as many being shanghaied, these men must 
have met thousands of others. And always, in 
ports or on cruises, except when sleeping, they had 
been spinning yarns of their experiences or silently 
listening to yarns spun by their shipmates and 
drinking cronies. 

From some one of these travelers of Oriental seas 
and lands he must pick up some clew to direct his 
search, to save valuable time, to spare him from 
wasting effort and energy. 

Back in the United States, the task, as he had 
talked it over continuously with the Johnson fam¬ 
ily or with Mr. Powell of the Peernone Importing 
Corporation, had not seemed beyond him. Amer¬ 
ican cities are so close together. Governments are 
well organized. Races of citizens are much alike. 
But here- 

He gazed down at the outlandish garb of the 
deck passengers. He listened to their babble of 
tongues and thought of their differences of history, 
life, religion, and occupation, and his heart sank. 
Plunged into the blackest despair at the hopeless¬ 
ness of his rash undertaking, he buried his face in 
his hands and almost wept. In some unexplainable 
manner the only thing he could see floating before 
his tear-moistened eyes was the rotating figure of 
the Eurasian boatswain cavorting through the air 



CALCUTTA, PENANG, SINGAPORE 45 

above the rail of the Portlander and dropping in a 
wide curve towards the water. In spite of his 
feelings, Thomas had to chuckle to himself; and, 
although there was a stinging feeling about his eyes 
and a salty taste in the corners of his mouth, he 
pulled himself together and began to think. 

He rested his head in his hands, and the seething, 
gesticulating mob on the deck below him was shut 
out from his sight. In spite of his cool attempt to 
weigh accurately all the odds against him, he was 
a youth in whose heart trust in himself and in the 
good offices of other people was still strong. No 
boy who, in spite of all seeming drawbacks, is able 
to realize the first hopes of his life ambition can 
remain despondent for long. 

His naturally buoyant disposition said to his 
feeling of insignificance in the immense universe 
and of weakness against the thousands of individ¬ 
uals he had seen in Calcutta and now on this dash¬ 
ing liner: 

“You wanted to get even with Hanson for 
knocking Sven’s hat overboard. When you said 
that, what hope was there that you could do it? 
And what happened? Where did you get your 
hints? Yes, and a lot of help, too? Where 
you never could have expected it. From that 

Chink-” he checked himself. That was no way 

to show his gratitude for what he had received. 



46 


IN SINGAPORE 


That was no name to call an understanding helper. 
He corrected himself and went on: 

“ From that good old scout, the Chinaman, gal¬ 
ley mate, Sing Ho.” 

He raised his eyes and bored into the restless 
mob below him. 

“ My father may have watched just such people 
on boats in these Eastern waters, may have mixed 
with them, talked with them. Some one down there 
may have known him.” He corrected that thought. 
“ May know him now—could tell me about him! ” 

He pounded with his fists on the rail. 

“ But which one? And how to find him? I may 
be missing the one chance in a thousand this very 
minute! What can I do? ” 

Talk to people! That was the only chance on 
a boat like this one. 

He straightened with a new resolve. 

Hurrying to the library he appropriated a thick 
layer of the ship’s largest writing paper, going out 
by the door farthest from the open eye of the stew¬ 
ard. High above, on the sun-blistered and cinder- 
swept boat deck, he found the boatswain with half 
of his watch tightening tackle and bolts on the life¬ 
boats and rafts. Edging close to the two men who 
appeared to be Europeans, Tom began to sketch 
the curves of the davits and the arrangement of the 
lowering gear. 


CALCUTTA, PENANG, SINGAPORE 47 

If this sketching did nothing else, it passed the 
time, and it might give him and his office mates 
hints for ship drawings later. He could mail all 
the sheets home to Bill Johnson. Thomas was deep 
in the intricacies of a running slip noose, when he 
overheard a chuckling voice say: 

“ Ye should have washed yer face fer the artist, 
Mike.” 

Thomas smiled back at the friendly grins. 

“ Not an artist,” he protested. “ Going to be a 
ship architect.” 

The two seamen sat back on their heels, an Ori¬ 
ental trick that Thomas noticed every one out here 
had mastered. It wrenched the muscles in his 
thighs cruelly when he tried it. 

He held up his drawing for their rapt inspection. 

Their eyes flashed their intelligent appreciation. 

“ Ye’ll then be wantin’ to see all the new handy 
gadgets we’ve got on this boat? ” asked the first 
speaker. 

“ Everything on a ship,” replied Thomas. 

“ Then come look at this electric thing-um-a-bob 
for lowering lifeboats when the engine’s out of or¬ 
der and the hold’s full of water.” 

Thomas listened to the explanation, wishing that 
seamen did not like so much to hear themselves 
talk. He waited for an opening to slip his yarn 
into the conversation. 


48 


IN SINGAPORE 


“ My father was a seaman,” he started, and 
plunged ahead rapidly to prevent any interruption. 
“ That’s why I like boats. He used to sail these 
seas.” (To himself he commented, “ You talk like 
an old salt yourself, Tom. Keep going! ”) He 
raced along. “Little fellow; short; wiry; you 
know. But an all-round A. B. Maybe you knew 
him. French descent. Lived in Central America. 
Perhaps you thought he was a foreigner.” 

“ We’re all foreigners out here,” one of the 
sailors got in, while Thomas was snatching a breath. 

“ Ever meet him? ” Thomas continued intently. 

The two gazed at each other blankly. 

“ Seems I never did,” said one, his voice drip¬ 
ping with genuine regret. 

“ Now what did you say his name might be? ” 
gently hinted the other, so gently that Thomas did 
not flush scarlet as he should have done at the re¬ 
minder that he was not a good spinner of yarns. 

“ Dubois—Thomas Dubois; same name as mine.” 

The slower-witted sailor struck the other on the 
shoulder. 

“ Didn’t we know him? On the old Capula, out 
of Java? French he was, sure enough.” 

“ Seems like I do remember a Frenchman,” the 
other agreed slowly. “ What did we hear happened 
to him? ” 

“ Wait, I’ll get it,” exclaimed the other. 


CALCUTTA, PENANG, SINGAPORE 49 

“ Didn’t she go down near Tahiti with all hands 
aboard?” 

The other nodded. 

“ All lost. I remember when I heard it as though 
it happened yesterday.” He wet his lips for a good 
long tale of this tragedy of the sea. “ And it was 
twenty years ago-” 

“ Here, hold on! ” Thomas sprang to his feet. 
“ I’m not twenty years old. That couldn’t have 
been my father.” 

“ Guess not,” agreed the other, regretting his 
lost yarn of the sinking of the Capula with all on 
board. “ And anyhow, I just remember, Jock, that 
Frenchman’s name was Chamberry.” 

“ Right you are! Remember how we called him 
Raspberry for short? ” 

“ Excuse me,” said Thomas. “ I’ve got to go 
below. This sketch is finished.” 

The two seamen gazed after him. 

“ Well, all in all, the sinking of the Capula is a 
good yarn for travelers on this boat. That’s the 
first time we failed to tell it all the way through.” 

“ And it always,” sighed the other, “ brought us 
at least something to smoke.” 

“ I wonder if all Americans are as businesslike 
as that.” 

“ Fine chance he has of learning anything about 
his father out here.” 



50 


IN SINGAPORE 


They were right. The voyage to Penang pro¬ 
duced dozens of valuable drawings of ship con¬ 
struction but not a hint of the fate of the long-lost 
seaman. 

It was disheartening. 

“ Oh, well,’’ Thomas would comfort himself, 
“ this is a crack ocean racehound. What would 
these fellows know of a hard-working young man 
on a freighter or a sailing vessel? Just wait till I 
get to the cities where we know he was! ” 

He learned that the Malay word for the betel nut 
chewed by the natives had long ago given the name 
to the island of Penang because of its shape, but 
he let all such dull information slide easily off his 
mind as the ship skirted the land and gave him his 
first glimpse of the fairylands of the Malay penin¬ 
sula. The gentle slopes were densely wooded in 
vivid green from the white edge of the curling surf 
to the tree-clad peak. Boats and nets of the fisher 
folk were drawn up to dry beyond the bamboo fish¬ 
ing stakes. The steamer rounded a jutting fore¬ 
land and made a bee-line for the main street of 
the city, as though it would go gaily up between 
its two rows of buildings. The harbor was dotted 
with bobbing lighters and tacking fishing boats, by 
Chinese junks and Indian cargo steamers. The 
liner came to rest in mid-channel while farther in 
rode the saucy coasters. Above the red and purple 


CALCUTTA, PENANG, SINGAPORE 51 

roofs of the town he marked the tall tower of the 
railroad ticket office. 

Calcutta and the mixture of races on board this 
vessel had prepared him somewhat for the surprise 
of his first Malay city, but no anticipation could 
remove from that experience its startling shock. 
For hours—in spite of his resolution to go about 
his business at once—Thomas was spellbound; for 
minutes, disgusted and horrified at what he saw; 
and then, just when his feelings amounted almost 
to physical nausea, he would chance upon some lit¬ 
tle picture of unbelievable charm that enchanted 
him until the next disturbing event shocked him 
back to the disagreeable reality. 



SOME LITTLE PICTURE OF UNBELIEVABLE CHARM. 


















52 


IN SINGAPORE 


Surrounded by such sights and smells, Thomas 
had to exert all his firmness of will to pursue the 
single purpose for which he was in Penang. A few 
leading questions put him quickly on the track of 
records:—the sailors’ lodging houses, the registry 
offices, the employment bureaus, the city recorder’s 
office of vital statistics. 

Clerks and department heads were attentive and 
courteous, but he discovered immediately that of 
all persons involved in shipping only sailors have 
the leisure to spin long yarns dug up from the 
depths of their experiences. 

However, Thomas did learn one thing with cer¬ 
tainty. The various records he had consulted could 
provide no actual news of when his father had been 
in Penang. He still had only the date of that last 
letter to prove that his father had been there at all. 
What he was able to carry away with some tiny 
satisfaction was that his father had not died there. 
At least there was no entry of the burial of any 
man bearing his name. 

Everywhere the advice was the same. 

“ If he said he was leaving for Singapore, that’s 
where you ought to try to find him,” said a be¬ 
spectacled old clerk, trying to relieve his heavy 
despair. 

“ You think I’ll learn something? ” 

“ It’s a bigger port than this—one of the three 



CALCUTTA, PENANG, SINGAPORE 53 

largest in the Orient. They keep better records 
than we can ever hope to.” 

Thomas brightened. 

“ Sounds reasonable,” he agreed. 

“ More experience there, too, in trying to trace 
people,” the old fellow went on. 

Thomas looked inquiringly. 

“ Yes; more experience.” The clerk leaned over 
his table, with its legs standing in cans of water to 
keep the million ants from crawling to its surface. 

Then, as Thomas got wearily to his aching feet, 
the kind old man dashed all his hopes to earth 
again. 

“You know we call Singapore the ‘ Port of 
Missing Men,’ ” he called after the boy at the 
parted mat flapping in the doorway. 

If that was the reputation of Singapore, the pos¬ 
sibility of picking up any trace of an insignificant 
individual, a single speck among the brilliant colors 
of the ever-changing mass of population, was re¬ 
mote indeed. 

His desires made him want to fly to Singapore, 
but although he saw a few airplanes, he knew that 
they were privately owned by native millionaires. 
He would have traveled by train, but having com¬ 
puted his supply of ready money, he decided that a 
boat ticket would be the only sensible one for him 
to buy. The time-tables showed that he would 


54 


IN SINGAPORE 


arrive not very much later by water than by train. 
He had a look at the passenger trains. Knowing 
that he could not afford to travel in the first-class 
sleeping coach he was confirmed in his choice of 
ship by crossing to the mainland and taking a hasty 
glance at the second and third-class passengers. 

While his popping eyes were following a lady in 
violet jacket and black trousers, with heavy silver 
bangles on her arms, her sleek head bandaged by a 
black strip studded with silver ornaments that 
tinkled as she waddled along the station platform, 
a series of wailing cries made him jump. Then 
he saw that the wails came from a pig. It was 
slung on a pole and was borne along by a family 
that was stuffing itself into the compartment of a 
day coach. At the next narrow doorway a middle- 
aged man in quilted coat, balancing a hat decorated 
by a demon’s mark and two pointed tabs that stuck 
out like a frightened rabbit’s ears, was directing 
the bearer of a wicker platter, all the while noisily 
sucking a delicate piece of sugar cane. This platter 
held the food for his journey,—a tastily roasted lit¬ 
tle pig, whose odor made Tom’s mouth water. 

Crates of fowls and ducks were lugged into the 
coaches as personal baggage, with cooking utensils, 
bundled babies, and cans of oil. Yelling peddlers 
warned passengers to lay in stocks of firecrackers, 
fruit, roast sweet potatoes, sugar cane, and yams. 


CALCUTTA, PENANG, SINGAPORE 55 

Porters in rags that disclosed raw sores bore bun¬ 
dles for girls in padded scarlet jackets. A tall slen¬ 
der woman in creamy silk was escorted by her 
father, whose age and rank were marked by five 
long white hairs swaying from his tanned chin and 
a disk of ivory flashing with inlaid gold on his chest. 
His blue jacket was of silk, stiff enough to stand 
alone, but his cotton trousers were as filthy as 
though he had wallowed in a roadside ditch. 

Squealing bag-pipes, high-pitched fifes, tinkling 
bells, the resounding gongs of the train dispatchers, 
and the agitated barking of countless chow puppies 
and gutter pups reached their climax as each train 
rolled into the station or departed. 

The passengers had with them not only all their 
mattresses, bedclothes, food, and cooking utensils, 
but all the live stock of the family as well. Those 
same people might be on his ship, but the ocean 
does sweep the decks with pure smells, and one can 
walk away from overpowering cooking when not 
confined in a train. 

As the cranky, puffy little craft steamed from 
the harbor straight into the tinted mists of the set¬ 
ting sun, Thomas cast only a few glances and fewer 
regrets over the stern at the receding city. It had 
given him little except despair and distrust. 

The first link in his outlined plan had snapped 
at the first strain. He had tried it and it had 


56 


IN SINGAPORE 


broken in his grasp. He hoped he would never 
have to cast his eyes upon Penang again. 

The steamer was turning sharply to the south. 
The short twilight was being plunged into the deep 
night of the tropics. The ocean was sparkling with 
phosphorescent glow. 

Somewhere down below was the city where he 
must risk all for success, or meet final disappoint¬ 
ment. 

In the gathering darkness Thomas strained 
towards Singapore with a determined expression 
on his face. 


CHAPTER IV 


SOUNDS, SIGHTS, AND SMELLS 

On the day of the ship’s arrival at Singapore, 
Thomas was up on deck long before dawn, shiver¬ 
ing in that damp wind which, in the tropics, an¬ 
nounces the day, with its false hope of cool airs. 
He wondered again at the skill of the pilots in these 
waters crowded with irregular islands, these 
strange-speaking foreigners who miraculously 
guide their craft along the winding channels of 
these treacherous seas. 

He noticed that the stumpy steamer was higher 
in the water than she had been on leaving Penang, 
because of the loss in weight in the coal she had 
burned, and he thanked his stars there had been no 
head winds to delay them. 

The flashes of the lighthouses were paling in the 
coming day. The red ones no longer showed at 
all. On his right, through breaks in the mist, he 
could catch glimpses of tall mountains, their crests 
and sides tinted with the gray and pink of mother- 
of-pearl by the rays of the still invisible sun. They 
were so airy, so delicate, as they hung poised in 
the atmosphere with no view of their lower slopes 

57 


58 


IN SINGAPORE 

l* 

or bases or even of the island from which they 
sprang, that he could hardly believe they were real. 

He rubbed his eyes and thought of Sindbad. 
Why, certainly! That was why he had recalled 
the Arabian Nights, read years ago. Wasn’t it 
somewhere in these islands that Sindbad the Sailor 
had rubbed his magic lamp and had found grinning 
and prancing apes and little brown men that re¬ 
sembled them? If only, now that he was on the 
spot, he could read those fascinating tales of magic 
again! Perhaps he could, during evenings when 
he should be waiting for the events of the next day. 

He could now make out clearly the island on 
which Singapore is built. The channel here swung 
far out to turn the edge of the shallows. There 
bobbed the dumpy little lightship, just extinguish¬ 
ing its beacons. All the craft on the surface of 
the oily water were steering straight for that white 
tower on the crest of Lighthouse Hill. That rising 
trail of smoke on the horizon might be mounting 
from an active volcano. 

How long it took to reach the port! In that air, 
against the unreflecting surface of the sunless 
ocean, objects can be seen at amazing distances. 
Where did all the ships come from? The answer 
to that question was easy. They came from all 
over the globe, for Singapore is the corridor to both 
the East and the West. 


SOUNDS, SIGHTS, AND SMELLS 59 

Could the harbor accommodate all these boats 
steering towards it as rapidly as their propelling 
force—steam, electricity, gas, wind, hand, and foot 
power—could make them move? Then he felt re¬ 
assured that there would be space, for he noticed 
that just as many craft were making away from 
the harbor and were scattering to all points of the 
compass. 



HIS SHIP WAS CLOSE IN. 


His ship was close in before the risen sun threw 
the regular morning haze across the wide waters. 
He could see fat Chinese and slender Malays sous¬ 
ing the decks of their sampans or painting their 
timbers. Every one of these strange contraptions 
seemed to have a pet duck tied to its rear deck. 






































60 


IN SINGAPORE 


About the rickety old wharves so many small 
boats were made fast that it was possible to walk 
for miles without touching the mainland. The 
docks and decks were piled with masses of com¬ 
modities that Thomas later learned were tortoises, 
sharks’ fins, copra, bales of rice and tea, cases of 
chopsticks, pots of grease, baskets of golden pork, 
cases of noodles, piles of live fish and stacks of 
dried fish, sun-cured vegetables, buckets of water¬ 
melon seeds, and tins of motor gasoline. 

The wild confusion of landing, the heaps of per¬ 
sonal baggage lugged about by the uncouth native 
passengers, the “ Come along now; step lively,” of 
the calm British officials, the jabbering in twenty 
languages, and the uncertainty of what he had bet¬ 
ter do first would have appalled Thomas a month 
before. But by now he had seen two cities of this 
outlandish part of the world, and already he called 
himself a thoroughly seasoned traveler. 

He passed from the end of the landing plank as 
briskly as he could, stepped off to the right to be 
out of the surging current of pushing humanity 
hurrying from the steamer, dropped his American 
looking suitcases beside him, and frankly stared all 
around him. 

Across the strip of narrow water he could see 
the soaring crests of the mountain ranges outlined 
against the cloudless sky. 


SOUNDS, SIGHTS, AND SMELLS 61 

“ Sumatra,” he reminded himself, like a school¬ 
boy mastering a geography lesson. 

The city before him seemed more compact at 
close range than it had from the water. From right 
to left swept the stately Harbor Front Road, with 
its imposing hotels and large business blocks. He 
regarded the rows with curiosity, realizing that 
with his reduced pocketbook their luxuries and 
wares were not for him. 

Should he find the post-office and ask for mail? 
There could hardly be any letters for him yet. Be¬ 
sides, the lure of the city made itself felt. He must 
start out at once to explore. If he chanced on the 
post-office, well and good;—he might go in, if some¬ 
thing more enticing were not drawing him along 
behind it. 

Wealthy Europeans must live in the villas he 
had noticed in terraces on the overtopping hill 
above the massed roofs of the main city. Well, he 
very likely had seen all of them that was necessary 
for him. Did Oriental hotels have a room where 
he could check his baggage, as hotels had at home? 
He could find out. 

He decided to cross the road. 

Resisting the assaults of half a hundred willing 
workers of all shades of skin and of all varieties of 
dress, he carried his own bags across the road, nar¬ 
rowly escaping collisions with loping jinrickshas 



62 


IN SINGAPORE 


and racing motor cars, and once being forced to 
walk round a parked cart drawn by two beautiful 
wide-horned white oxen. 

His entrance into the most expensive hotel in 
the entire Malay Peninsula, carrying his own bag¬ 
gage, caused a mild riot, although the attendants 
never once let Thomas know how peculiar an ani¬ 
mal they considered him in this land where no 
white man does any physical labor for himself, so 
cheap is native help. He later learned that if he 
should be sitting four feet from the pitcher of 
water and the glasses, and the native servant were 
forty yards away, it was too much effort to cross 
the four feet to pour his own glass of water. No; 
the house boy should be called from forty yards 
away to do this strenuous bit of work. 

In fifteen minutes the alert American youth 
learned that the city—like several western mush¬ 
room towns of his own land—made a good showing 
only on the outside to the casual visitor. It “ put 
up a good front,” as he wrote to Bill Johnson. 
Only the European residents and (this was aston¬ 
ishing to Tom) the Chinese lived in quarters that 
were better than slums. The other Chinese section 
and the Indian and Japanese districts were tawdry 
and mean, no matter how picturesque at first 
glance. 

He had been told on the Portlander • that China- 


SOUNDS, SIGHTS, AND SMELLS 63 

town was the district to live in. He was drawn by 
the odors of the outdoor Chinese cook shops, with 
their fat-bellied owners; but he decided he could 
never learn to juggle a bowl of food and two long 
chopsticks on a street curb in the gaze of passing 
Russians, British, Malays, Portuguese, Dutchmen, 
Japanese, and slumming American tourists. 

He wondered whether the closed fronts of build¬ 
ings hid opium dens, gambling joints, or joss tem¬ 
ples. He fell in beside a parade led by a Chinese 
brass band, blaring away at a tune he thought he 
knew. But, for the life of him, he could not be 
sure. A strain that sounded familiar was swept 
away by some terrible discords from the clarinet 
and bass horn. The booming of the big drum was 
terrible. The procession wound in and out along 
the narrowing streets and along alleys darkened by 
tall houses, whose overhanging balconies were 
crowded with spectators. 

His pulse beat faster as the musicians banged 
and blew, and his feet moved along in perfect time 
with the marked rhythm. Only after an hour of 
twisting and doubling did it dawn on him that per¬ 
haps this parade was not getting anywhere very 
promptly. A pair of white sailors turned around 
from a sloppy dish of noodles and rice which they 
were sharing from the top of a barrel. 

“ Pipe the brass band,” he heard one exclaim. 


64 


IN SINGAPORE 


“ Rats! ” the other objected. “ It’s only a Chi¬ 
nese funeral.” 

Thomas turned back and in vexation at himself 
plunged down the first narrow opening that led 
towards the water-front. 

It was impossible for him to go directly to any 
point; first, because he had no real reason for try¬ 
ing to get anywhere; and second, because, like all 
boys, he had eyes in his head and inquisitive feel¬ 
ings all over him. In this narrow alley he came 
upon the most amazing store he had ever seen. No 
pet shop in any city he knew could be put in the 
same class with it. He thought of the usual assort¬ 
ment of pet canaries, a cage or two of kittens, a 
few runs of fashionable puppies for ladies, the cer¬ 
tain bowl of goldfish, once in a long while a parrot, 
and, more rarely still, a timid little monkey. 

But this Singapore pet shop! There were 
birds like darting flames or bouquets of flowers; a 
score of various kinds of monkeys, of all sizes and 
colors, long-haired, short-haired, bearded, and 
shaved; parrots screeching in all languages; giant 
lizards; chameleons that flashed new colors upon 
their bodies while you watched them do it; pet 
ducks for house porch or boat deck; dome-shelled 
lumbering tortoises and their soft-skinned eggs; 
cute little snakes like lengths of colored cord; huge 
puffy serpents, too slow to harm any one; sharp- 


SOUNDS, SIGHTS, AND SMELLS 65 

eyed mongooses, that would be only too happy to 
pounce upon all these snakes, sink their sharp teeth 
into their necks just below their heads, and hang 
on for dear life through all the thrashing of the 
long bodies; cormorants to be used in fishing, with 
the metal ring around their necks so they could not 
swallow the fish they seize; pet crickets in tiny 
cages—the delight of poor Chinese youngsters; in 
the large aquarium, a fish with the brilliant red, 
yellow, and blue of a gorgeous parrot and a beak 
that could bite through wood; other fish as trans¬ 
parent as folded tissue paper; painted sparrows 
and birds of paradise; cockatoos and golden 
pheasants. 

A strange feeling in the pit of his stomach made 
Thomas realize that a menagerie is not a pleasant 
place to live in. The closeness of the atmosphere 
and the terrific odors of the establishment drove 
him to the outer air, gasping for relief. 

Decidedly, the food and the smell made it im¬ 
possible for him to think of living in the Chinese 
quarter. 

Business was not very brisk at the Sailors’ Mis¬ 
sion, and there he found a small room. Here, even 
if he could not have the three native servants en¬ 
tirely at his beck and call, he could be as cool as 
the tropics permit and, more attractive still, as 
odorless. Best of all, he could be clean. 



66 


IN SINGAPORE 


Early that evening he took a hot bath and tum¬ 
bled into bed. He did not wake up for fourteen 
hours. This long sleep was just what a healthy, 
thoroughly tired boy needed, and he awoke next 
morning with new courage for the great quest in 
which he had, so far, seemingly made but little 
progress. 


CHAPTER V 


SHIPS MAY START FOR PORTS 

At his very first visit to the authorities of the 
city, Thomas felt the difference between the crisp, 
efficient manner in which affairs were conducted 
here and the aimless, leisurely fashion he had seen 
in other city offices. 

He was telling his tale to the young clerk at the 
City Hall, as he called it, when that young man, 
no older than Thomas himself, stopped him, before 
he had hardly started, with an impersonal direc¬ 
tion: 

“ Central Police Station, 240 Johore Road, 
Room 56. Captain R. C. Dalton. Good-morning.” 

Thomas was so shocked by the heartlessness of 
this dismissal that he stood and stared at the clerk 
with the green eye-shade. The other caught the 
blank face of the inquirer with the tail of his eye 
and looked up quickly from his blotter. 

“ Don’t think me curt,” he said kindly. “ You 
must remember that on some days I have a score of 
inquiries like yours. And besides,” and here his 
blue eyes twinkled for a second, “ if you want to 
find a trace of your father, the sooner you get to 

67 


68 IN SINGAPORE 

Captain Dalton, the sooner he can begin working 
on the case.” 

The truth of that observation struck Thomas at 
once. His hearty, “ You’re right. Thank you,” 
was called back over his shoulder as he dashed 
through the door into the corridor leading to the 
street. 

“ Must remember that,” he told himself as he 
walked smartly towards Johore Road. “ Out here, 
not what you say but what you do counts.” 

The quiet of the police offices was at first disap¬ 
pointing. He recalled his one experience in an 
American court room, and now the absence of peo¬ 
ple darting in and out, the absence of loud voices in 
the corridors, the absence of banging doors, the 
quieter voices of the officers, and, above all, the 
deadened footfalls of the natives who moved noise¬ 
lessly about made the whole building much more 
impressive than it deserved to be. 

The assistant in Captain Dalton’s anteroom lis¬ 
tened more than he spoke. His pointed questions, 
asked in a matter-of-fact tone, nettled Thomas. 
Did this fellow realize that he had traveled half¬ 
way around the globe to talk to him? Did he know 
that he had come from America? In a brave at¬ 
tempt to impress this immense distance upon the 
automatic underling, Thomas broke out: 

“ I’ve come almost around the world! ” 


SHIPS MAY START FOR PORTS 69 


The young man understood the youth before him 
much better than the latter did himself. 

“ Nice little trip, isn’t it? ” was all he answered. 
“ I’ve been around the world myself—four times, 
in fact. And I worked nearly six months in your 
city of Chicago, too.” 

44 What is the use,” Thomas thought to himself, 
while the other’s nimble pen scratched on a blue 
report blank, 44 of trying to tell these people any¬ 
thing? They know it all in advance.” 

44 The last ships your father sailed on? Their 
names? ” 

The list that Thomas could give seemed woefully 
lacking, now that he was actually involved in start¬ 
ing his investigation. 

44 Know the one he sailed on into Penang? ” 

44 No,” Thomas faltered. 

44 Sorry. Now the one he sailed in from Penang 
to Singapore.” 

Thomas could only wiggle his head from left to 
right. 

44 That’s unfortunate.” 

The stranger from the United States realized 
that he was not offering the police much help. 

44 Then how do you know he ever came here? ” 

Thomas could only gaze in astonishment. 

44 Why, his last letter said he was coming,” was 
all he could get out in a weak voice. 


70 


IN SINGAPORE 


“ Many a sailor or ship starts out for a place and 
never reaches it,” observed the clerk, leaning back 
in his chair. 

That remark struck all Tom’s hopes and plans 
as a tidal wave might overwhelm a small boat. 
Down they went, totally wrecked. His thoughts 
leaped back to Penang, to the shipping he had so 
little regarded in the harbor, to the outlandish rig¬ 
gings from all the known and unknown ports of 
both hemispheres. How frightening was the re¬ 
mark that a ship could start out for a place and 
never reach it. He had never seen a wreck or a 
fatal collision. In his own harbor he had gazed on 
vessels with mashed-in bows slowly making their 
way up the channel. He had seen dismasted coast¬ 
ing schooners towed to shipyards by tugs. Ferry¬ 
boats had collided in soupy fogs. Ocean liners had 
cut holes in the steel sides of cargo tramps. News¬ 
papers had printed stories of heroic rescues in mid¬ 
ocean and accounts of total losses with no lives 
saved. But even though he was fitting himself 
to design ships that would be hammered by waves, 
beaten by storms, grazed by reefs, and pounded by 
rocks, he had never before felt the consequences 
of these misfortunes by wind and water to the 
people still on land. 

With a suddenness that left him white and 
speechless the tremendous power of the waters of 


SHIPS MAY START FOR PORTS 71 


the globe swept over him. Often in jest his com¬ 
panions had uttered the meaningless phrases, 
“ watery grave ” and “ trackless ocean/’ without 
arousing in his mind any real picture of the horror 
of a grave in the depths of the mysterious seas or 
the helplessness of a disabled ship among running 
billows. The tragedy of the word “ trackless ” held 
him fixed:—the straining timbers, the hissing rig¬ 
ging, the sloping decks, the splintering masts, the 
cries of the men, the sucking whirlpools that mark 
the spot for a short time only, the few pieces of 
wreckage carried by winds and currents to distant 
shores; but where the tragedy occurred there are 
no marks to proclaim it to passers, no help to later 
seekers; and after the fury of the storm had ex¬ 
hausted itself, the waters would become as gentle 
and blue and inviting as any part of the smiling, 
beautiful ocean can be. 

For the first time a sickening sense of the treach¬ 
erous power of these masses of water—which until 
now he had instinctively admired and loved—took 
possession of his entire being. Before this un¬ 
tamed, strong thing he cowered, feeling himself no 
more than the weakest kind of insect in the im¬ 
mense universe. 

He hardly heard the clerk’s cheery voice. 

“ All right. Just a minute now.” 

Thomas was not aware that he had disappeared 





72 IN SINGAPORE 

into the inner office. He sat huddled on the bench 
against the wall. For a few minutes longer he let 
his fancy dwell on all the terrors and horrors of the 
sea. Then resolutely he set his shoulders and drew 
his lips together firmly. He rubbed his fingers, 
for they had grown cold and numb with his fright. 
He set his eyes resolutely on the dull face of the 
office clock. 

The sense of suffocation beat upon his aching 
chest exactly as it did when he stayed under water 
too long. That feeling jerked his mind back to 
himself. When that agony of holding his breath 
under water grew so keen that his eyes wavered and 
his senses began to reel, when the pressure on his 
chest threatened to crush his bones in another sec¬ 
ond, he had always found some degree of relief by 
beginning to let his stored-up breath out very grad¬ 
ually and to turn his gaze upwards towards the 
lightened surface of the water. 

In an effort to gain some relief from the oppres¬ 
sive terror of the pictures in his brain, he did the 
same thing now. There was nothing on the ceiling 
to make him think of tempests and waves. He 
could gaze calmly on the cool green of its paint. 
His chest was filled to the bursting point with air 
that, in his emotional excitement, he had drawn 
in with deep breaths. Conscious that he was not 
forced to hold any in reserve until he reached the 


SHIPS MAY START FOR PORTS 73 


surface, he opened his mouth and released his chest 
muscles with a sound like that of steam escaping 
from the exhaust pipe of an engine. 



MEN AND SHIPS HAD GONE DOWN. 


Men and ships had gone down, of course, but 
both ships and men had weathered gales and ty¬ 
phoons ; wooden bottoms torn by collision and rocks 
had held until port had been safely gained; hun¬ 
dreds of persons had been rescued in all seas; and 
men in small boats had crossed thousands of miles 
to reach land. 

Storm and water, rocks and fire could do much; 
but man could do more. 

Those few minutes in a bare room in a police 
office in far-away Singapore made Thomas suffer 











74 


IN SINGAPORE 


as much as any other equal length of time in his 
entire life. In compensation they gave him a truer 
respect for the elemental force his life-work would 
deal with, and a truer sense of the responsibility 
his profession would demand. 

He had entered that building somewhat perky 
and over-confident. A few words from an unre¬ 
garding clerk—who never suspected the effect of 
his utterly commonplace yet true words—had 
plunged Thomas into the depths of despondency. 
When he left that building he was a changed 
person. His boyish perkiness had been cast off. 
But he was no less confident in himself, for the 
determination that had spurred him on for months 
was too strong to be shaken by an emotion. He 
was more quietly and cautiously confident in his 
own abilities, less likely to make impulsive begin¬ 
nings, stronger in endurance, and more patient in 
striving against hindrances. 

The sense of swimming in an immensity was still 
strong upon him, for he brought himself back to his 
present surroundings by a vigorous shake of his 
head, exactly as he always did when he threw the 
water from his matted hair. 

Had something been said to him that he had not 
heard? 

He was on his feet facing the clerk, whose ex¬ 
tended hand offered him a small identification card. 



SHIPS MAY START FOR PORTS 75 


Five minutes before, the clerk’s direction would 
have plunged him into deep despair over the delay. 
Now he could bear it calmly. 

“ Come back in three days, please.” 


CHAPTER VI 


GAMBLING AT “ THE YELLOW POPPY 

When the short twilight deepened into darkness, 
the narrow streets, alleys, and passages of the 
Chinese quarter, in which natives and visitors in 
the early morning and late afternoon carried on the 
necessary business of the day, slowly stretched and 
turned over, as if waking from troubled sleep, and 
then sprang rapidly into excited agitation. 

Midday and midnight were as different as—well, 
as day and night could be. Midday, instead of 
being noisy and animated, was dull and sleepy; and 
midnight, instead of being subdued and silent, was 
crowded and joyous. 

The shambling, gently swaying white oxen, 
drawing delivery wagons and goods carts, disap¬ 
peared from the streets. Their places were taken 
by every kind of conveyance that can be utilized 
by man for transporting himself over long and 
short distances. Ponies; blooded riding horses; 
motor cars with frightening horns; dogcarts; open 
barouches drawn by exactly matched horses throw¬ 
ing their legs in perfect unison; tandems; jinrick¬ 
shas bouncing behind their agile, yelling runners; 

76 


AT “ THE YELLOW POPPY ” 


77 


an occasional swaying litter; motorcycles; omni¬ 
buses ; wheeled chairs; and countless bicycles 
brought to the cafes, the restaurants, the joss 
houses, the shops, the cabarets, the theaters, and the 
gambling establishments all the motley population 
of this city situated at the crossroads of the world. 

Fronts of houses, boarded up and somber during 
the daylight hours, were swiftly and silently un¬ 
covered, revealing carving and gilding and red and 
yellow lacquers that writhed and glittered beneath 
brilliant electric clusters. Pipes wheezed, horns 
puffed, and drums rattled. Dishes and glasses 
clattered and clinked. Guests called and gesticu¬ 
lated ; waiters answered and darted about; snatches 
of song were whistled and clouds of smoke blew 
about. 

In the most dignified stretch of a quiet street 
the narrow front of a dark building had all day ap¬ 
peared like the wall of a warehouse in which busi¬ 
ness was not good. All day long not a person 
entered or left the one narrow door; not a blind in 
any of the closed shutters moved to let a ray of 
light penetrate to the interior; not a sound came 
from its empty spaces. 

Long after dark had settled in the street like a 
wad of soft wool, a solitary figure shuffled down 
the long dark corridor that led from the rear of 
the building to this single front door. His eyes 


78 


IN SINGAPORE 


were still dull, for he had just awakened from his 
regular day’s sleep. With the sureness developed 
by long habit, he pressed a concealed button under 
one of the panels of the door, and a bit of the 
woolly night puffed into his face as a six-inch 
square opening was made by a sliding sheet of steel. 
The watcher’s keen eyes blinked up and down the 
empty street. Then he touched a switch and a dull 
electric bulb shone dimly above the door. 

With this signal at its main entrance, the best- 
regulated gambling house in Singapore was open 
for the night’s business and pleasure. 

Patrons arrived in dozens after eleven o’clock, 
many making their way into the rooms by side and 
rear doors, never suspected by the uninformed of 
giving access to the most celebrated gambling 
establishment in the Far East. But most came in 
twos and threes along this quiet street, too narrow 
for motor cars. Even the jinricksha men put down 
their passengers at the end of the road and directed 
them to come to the door on foot. 

Beneath that glimmering circle of light every 
person who mounted the single step was scrutinized 
searchingly by those glinting eyes behind the dark 
square opening. When the door swung inward, 
the owner of those examining eyes silently covered 
himself behind it. As the patrons walked down the 
corridor towards the light at the end, he pressed 


AT “ THE YELLOW POPPY ” 


79 


a signaling button in the wall. It was rumored 
that this guard never forgot a face or a figure. 
Trouble-makers never passed that portal a second 
time. Some who were allowed to pass, but whose 
manner, once they were in the corridor, failed to 
satisfy the observer, found, at the end of the 
passage, an inviting door open on their right, and 
a light showing the way. Once beyond that door, 
they heard it lock behind them. The light went 
out. They were in a side alley leading to the 
lighted street before them. Few persons treated in 
this manner ever tried to get in again, but con¬ 
tented themselves with patronizing less particular 
places, where they could lose their money with less 
exclusiveness. 

At exactly eleven o’clock the money changers 
tucked away their balance sheets and the attendants 
took their places behind their tables, their stacks 
of coins before them, their wooden rakes close to 
their right hands. The plainly furnished rooms, 
dimly lighted by green-shaded clustered lights, 
throwing all their rays upon the playing tables, 
were a shock to casual visitors whose curiosity 
about the place was keener than their desire to win. 
But those patrons—regular and occasional—to 
whom playing for stakes was the breath of life, or 
its one great diversion, found the surroundings 
entirely appropriate. In a gambling establishment 


80 IN SINGAPORE 

nothing should distract attention from the games 
themselves. 

The Chinese director of the finances of the in¬ 
stitution—a cultured graduate of a European 
university—moved among the tables easily, ex¬ 
changing a few words in polished tones with some 
of the early arrivals. 

When Thomas saw him, he gasped at the dig¬ 
nified power of the man. 

For Thomas was there—all eyes and ears. 

The day clerk at his lodging place had assured 
him that he must see such an establishment or he 
would never comprehend the real nature of dwellers 
in the East and of travelers in it. Not a regular 
patron himself, he knew many who were. He had 
felt the thrills of winning the smallest stakes, as 
well as the disappointment of seeing his small 
wagers scooped up by others. He summed up his 
opinion and code of behavior in a single sentence: 

“ When I can spare five dollars, I get more fun 
there than in going to a theater or eating too much 
in a restaurant.” 

He was going to have what he termed “ a ten- 
dollar fling ” that night. If Thomas wanted to 
go along, he would be glad to take him. If Thomas 
had the courage to risk five dollars himself, it 
would add to the fun. Bill Johnson had poked a 
bill into his pocket as a parting gift, with the 



AT “ THE YELLOW POPPY ” 


81 


remark, “ Now, Tom, some time when you want to 
spend money you shouldn’t, or have some fun you 
can’t afford, dig up my note and spend it reck¬ 
lessly 

Should he do it? 

He would! In his enthusiasm he nodded over 
the wire cage to young Manchester and then spent 
the remainder of the day repenting his hasty 
promise. But he was too proud to back out of the 
adventure. 

For the first hour in the gambling establishment, 
as most beginners do, Thomas felt cheated. Man¬ 
chester delayed playing as long as he could, in 
order to make the evening seem longer. Wander¬ 
ing from room to room, from table to table, trying 
to grasp the differences of the various plays, 
Thomas felt like asking: 

“ But doesn’t anything ever happen? ” 

Around the tables quiet groups sat or stood with 
eyes intent on the game, pushing forward their 
money, hardly moving unless a winning play forced 
them to stretch for the stakes. If a player had won 
or lost enough, he pushed back his chair, but his 
place was filled immediately and the game suf¬ 
fered no interruption. The card games were 
especially quiet and dignified. Even fan-tan, the 
reputed curse of Chinese gamblers, was con¬ 
ducted like a ceremony. The voices of the at- 


82 


IN SINGAPORE 


tendants of other kinds of play repeated their direc¬ 
tions monotonously: 

“ Faites vos jeuoc, Mesdames, Monsieurs. Faites 
vos jeucc. Make your plays, Ladies and Gentle¬ 
men. Make your plays! ” 

The English words helped Thomas grasp the 
meaning of the French, but the expressions in other 
tongues were utterly incomprehensible to him. 

He began to grow sleepy. This might be enter¬ 
taining for Manchester, who knew the intricacies 
of all the moves, but for a healthy young American 
who had walked about the warm streets nearly all 
day, sleep was more welcome than the stealthy, 
catlike watchfulness that all these patrons ex¬ 
hibited. A pistol shot would have been a positive 
relief. He touched his guide’s arm. 

“ Say, don’t think I’m a savage, but when is 
somebody going to shoot himself over his losses? ” 

Manchester silenced him with a frightened look 
and gesture. 

“ Well, why not stake your money, lose it, and 
get the agony over? ” Thomas went on jestingly. 

“ Don’t talk about losing. It’s a bad sign.” 

“ I expect to lose my five dollars. That’s the 
price I’m willing to pay for what I thought would 
be exciting—at least entertaining. It’s not—if I 
may be allowed to tell the truth.” 

“ You ought to win. All beginners are lucky.” 


AT “ THE YELLOW POPPY ” 


83 


“ Never found anything valuable, never won 
anything valuable.” 

“ Then your luck should change. Do you carry 
anything for luck? ” 

Thomas stared in unbelief. Could this grown 
Englishman believe in charms and hoodoos? Had 
he been so long among superstitious sailors and 
charmed Orientals that he had let his reason sink 
beneath stories of witch doctors and workers of 
black magic? Thomas could hardly credit his 
senses. 

Then he swept his eyes around and wondered 
how long it would take to make him accept as real 
the surroundings into which his youthful curiosity 
had led him. That old Chinese gentleman on the 
opposite side of the table might have been an 
antique carved statue from a joss house, come to 
life for this one night only. His bronzed face was 
set in a thousand wrinkles; his delicate fingers 
had nails so long they had to be protected by 
tapering gold guards shaped like lengthened 
thimbles. The horn-rimmed spectacles on his 
arched nose framed the only signs of life in his 
stationary figure, his slanting eyes darting hither 
and thither with every play. 

Next to him sat an English lady with a high- 
pitched voice. She had come from a dinner party 
or dance, for her fur-edged cloak dropped back 


84 


IN SINGAPORE 


from her emerald-green evening gown. Behind her 
stood her escort in immaculate black and white 
evening clothes. Near his side, pushing his fat, 
swarthy fist under his very elbow to place his bets, 
stood a dumpy man of uncertain nationality—pay¬ 
master, perhaps, from a Dutch man-of-war. 

Was all this real? Was he actually among these 
people? He? Three months ago he had been 
among the usual quiet scenes of his daily routine. 
He began to be slightly troubled. Let him once 
accept as real persons all these figures from a play 
he was witnessing, and he might be led to accept 
as true all their varied and strange beliefs. Never 
had he dreamed of such picturesque persons. 

Suppose he had to live out here for years. Could 
he still remain a common-sensed American? Or 
should he be transformed into some peculiar person 
with no racial marks, no individuality of his own? 
What did that automatic attendant in the middle 
of the long side of the table think of the company 
that pressed close about him, night after night, 
year after year? He seemed not to be aware of 
their existence. To him nothing mattered except 
the sharp tinkling of the little whirling ball in the 
singing wheel and the scattered coins and bank 
notes on the squares before him. Until the wheel 
came to rest and the marble, with its voice of fate, 
clicked sharply into its resting compartment, the 


AT “ THE YELLOW POPPY ” 


85 


players and spectators held their breath in anxiety. 
The short, stocky attendant called out the number 
briskly, and a series of quick sighs came from those 
straining faces. 

To the attendant all this did not exist. Only 
the decorated board meant anything. With a few 
nervous sweeps of his wooden rake, he drew 
towards him all the forfeited moneys. Then, spin¬ 
ning the wheel and tossing the ball in opposite 
directions again, he skilfully sorted the mass of 
money into piles by countries and then stacked it 
neatly by denominations, all the while repeating his 
monotonous chant urging the players to place their 
stakes. 

Manchester had been reducing his wanderings to 
this one room and had been hovering longer and 
longer about this narrow table. Here, evidently, 
he had decided to risk his money. 

“ I’ll play first,” he explained. “ Then if I win 
I’ll go on playing. That will make it last longer.” 

“ Not too long, I hope,” Thomas answered 
frankly. “ I’m sleepy. Lose it soon, then I’ll lose 
mine, and we’ll go home to bed.” 

Manchester wriggled cautiously between two 
spectators, who courteously made room as soon as 
they saw that he was going to play. He threw a 
coin so that it fell on the intersection of two lines 
and thus touched four squares. 


86 


IN SINGAPORE 


“ Four chances of winning something,” he whis¬ 
pered to the observing Thomas. 

“ But only one-fourth as much,” the other re¬ 
torted, for so much was easy to understand. 

Expecting his companion to be stripped of his 
funds in a few seconds, Thomas retreated to the 
outer line and waited. But Manchester darted 
forward and made two movements to place two 
coins, for the first turn had brought him winnings. 

The attendant droned, the coins clicked, the 
wheel whirred, the marble clicked, and still Man¬ 
chester curved his shoulders forward and straight¬ 
ened them again. In spite of his first indifference, 
Thomas found himself edging closer and closer, 
until by some readjustment he was behind Man¬ 
chester’s left elbow and leaning close over the 
steady gamblers in their chairs. 

Manchester’s eyes were tense, his breath was 
labored, and his face was flushed and pale. 

“ What’s up? ” asked Thomas. 

“ Had a streak of good luck running. It 
changed just now.” 

No longer was he darting forward to gather his 
winnings in his fingers or to rearrange the coins on 
the cloth for larger risks. Now he repeated only 
one movement. Waiting as long as he dared 
before the attendant called that no more bets might 
be made, he would consider every chance before he 


AT “ THE YELLOW POPPY ” 


87 


decided where to place his money. All his delays, 
all his careful calculations produced one always- 
repeated result:—his money was swept away by the 
rake towards the winnings of the establishment. 
All that Manchester had thought was his own had 
now slipped from his possession, back again to the 
bank that is so seldom exhausted. 

“ That’s all,” he muttered, rubbing his dry brow. 

Thomas looked at him inquiringly. 

“ You’ll have to play now, or we’ll have to move 
back,” Manchester explained. 

Thomas would have asked for more advice, but 
the regular patrons cast angry looks at these two 
young disturbers of the quiet of the evening. With 
no more thought than if he were casting a pebble 
into water, Thomas tossed his gold sovereign upon 
the marked cloth. It fell across a line and lay 
partly on two squares. 

The ball ran down through its last dwindling 
noises and gave its final sound. Voices murmured 
the number, “ Thirty-two.” 

Tom’s sleepy lids opened as he glanced hastily at 
one of the squares touched by his coin. Could he 
believe his eyes? The rake had swept the board 
almost clear of money. Near his stake rested five 
other pieces of various values. He must have won! 
He felt Manchester’s touch on his arm, signaling 
him to pick up his winnings. He leaned over the 



88 


IN SINGAPORE 


hunched shoulders of the figure in the chair before 
him and clutched all the money belonging to him. 

Before he had raised his hand two inches from 
the table he felt his wrist seized in a grip that 
pressed like steel. His fingers flew open and the 
coins dropped with a clatter. The powerful hand 
forced his arm up until his elbow and shoulder 
ached and he found the wrathful face of the at¬ 
tendant scowling at him. 

Thomas could only stare helplessly. 



THE COINS DROPPED WITH A CLATTER. 

Manchester had presence of mind to call into his 
ear, “ Twenty-two was yours, you chump.” 

His captor muttered several words in a language 





















AT “ THE YELLOW POPPY ” 


89 


Thomas did not recognize. Several ugly faces 
threatened him as his wrist was freed. 

His hasty, “I’m terribly sorry. I made a mis¬ 
take,” was reenforced by an explanation from 
Manchester, and the angry countenances returned 
to the game. A second later the effects of the 
slight disturbance had disappeared as completely as 
a ripple on the surface of the water, except that 
Thomas was rubbing his pained wrist and Man¬ 
chester was hurrying him towards an exit. 

“ If you couldn’t find any excitement in there, 
you certainly made some for yourself,” Manchester 
said when they reached the refreshing night air. 

“For a moment I thought I was a goner,” 
Thomas admitted. “ That man has a grip like 
steel.” 

“ He’s the steadiest fellow in the business. Been 
here for years. No one ever gets the best of him.” 

“ What was that language he jabbered in? ” 

“ Some French, some Portuguese.” 

“ I hope I didn’t spoil your pleasure.” 

“ No; I couldn’t have hung around much longer. 
All my money was gone. I’d had my fun.” 

“ Why didn’t you stop when you had won all 
that I saw in your fist? ” 

Manchester uttered a quick, nervous laugh. 

“ Oh, innocent youth! That’s the mystery of all 
such gambling. We simply can’t stop in time.” 


90 


IN SINGAPORE 


“ Foolish, I call it,” Thomas pronounced. 

“ Give me credit for some sense. I never take 
more than I can afford to lose.” 

“ What’s the name of that place? Chinese? ” 

“ Yes. In English it means ‘ The Yellow 
Poppy.’ ” 

“ Forgetfulness, eh? ” Thomas grinned. “ How 
do the losers forget? ” 

He could see that a shudder of disturbance 
passed over Manchester at the disagreeable topic. 
Then his initiated companion remarked lightly: 

“ Some take to opium. Others just walk off the 
docks all along the water-front.” 

Thomas shuddered at the hardness of the 
speaker’s voice. Then a trembling seized him. 
Had his father met either of those fates? 

Manchester had noticed the tremor that ran over 
the younger man’s body. 

“ Let’s hurry,” he advised. “ You’re cold. This 
night air gets you visitors before you know it. It’s 
not too pleasant for me, either.” 

And with no trace of regret for the money he 
had thrown away for the fun that Thomas con¬ 
sidered a dull hour in an uncomfortable place, 
Manchester whistled shrilly as he quickened his 
pace along the quiet streets in the mysterious velvet 
blackness of the tropical night. 


CHAPTER VII 


TOM LEARNS WHERE HIS FATHER WORKS 

When Thomas, three days later, was introduced 
to Inspector Allmayer, he was not surprised to see 
a police detective who looked like a prosperous 
grocer or candy store owner. He had enough sense 
to know that detectives are made to appear like 
foxes, bloodhounds, and hawks only in books and 
in films. Inspector Allmayer was so far removed 
from story-book conventions as to have a shining 
bald head. 

Thomas waited anxiously but quietly in the chair 
to which the police agent had motioned him. 
Should he begin by asking questions? Should he 
just let things take their natural course? 

Mr. Allmayer drew his gaze back from the 
screened window through which he had been absent- 
mindedly scanning the motley group of passers-by 
and turned to Thomas. The boy was held fas¬ 
cinated by the depths in those blue eyes. He had 
heard and read of eyes that bored through one, he 
had himself gazed into the faces of persons of many 
different races, yet never had he met a pair of eyes 
like these. The silence under their scrutiny was 
becoming uncomfortable. He knew that he must 

91 


92 


IN SINGAPORE 


not display any embarrassment by shifting his posi¬ 
tion, so he simply gazed back. 

Then came the questions—the cross-examina¬ 
tion, Thomas later called it when he told about it. 
Once or twice only did any flicker of change 
register itself on the calm and kindly countenance 
of the detective. Many of the inquiries appeared 
totally unnecessary to the boy. He was desirous of 
learning something definite, and of being relieved 
of this eternal attempt by authorities to get in¬ 
formation and more information from him. Most 
of his annoyance was caused by the realization that 
he had so little information to furnish. 

The early bombardment he met promptly and 
easily. 

“ What’s your name? How old? Where born? 
What are you doing now? How did you get out 
here from the States? Any adventures on the 
way? ” 

Thomas hesitated for a second, then briefly out¬ 
lined the happy “ accident ” by which he had 
squared accounts with Hanson for Sven’s lost hat. 

Inspector Allmayer’s face showed not the trace 
of a smile and the hero’s pleasure in his achieve¬ 
ment oozed away. 

“ Why go to Calcutta? Why to Penang? What 
did you learn there? Why did you come here? 
Where are you living? ” 



WHERE TOM’S FATHER WORKS 93 


The next question made Thomas jump in his 
chair. 

“ Can you handle firearms? ” 

As the reply was not prompt in coming, he 
modified it slightly. 

“ Ever carry a revolver? ” 

The youth felt somewhat less imposing because 
he had to say, “ No.” But, for the life of him, he 
could not see what this had to do with his predica¬ 
ment. 

“ Why didn’t you write all this to us before you 
arrived, to save time? ” 

Thomas felt that the questions were “ getting 
warmer.” 

“ Did your father have any nicknames? ” 

He knew now that they were getting close to the 
real business. 

“ Could he speak any languages besides Eng¬ 
lish? ” 

Thomas hesitated. Inspector Allmayer led him 

on. 

“ French? ” 

“ He might know some. He had a French 
name.” 

“ Ever hear him called ‘ Frenchie ’ ? ” 

Thomas shook his head. “ I don’t remember.” 

The Inspector took up another thread. 

“ Any other languages possibly? ” 


94 


IN SINGAPORE 


That “ possibly ” gave the boy an idea;—strange 
that he had not seen its significance before. 

“ What’s the language of Guatemala? Spanish, 
isn’t it? At least, American Spanish. He must 
have known some of that.” 

“ There’s more Portuguese than Spanish out 
here.” 

Was the Inspector trying to lead him to grasp 
something for himself? 

“ Wouldn’t the Spanish help him with Portu¬ 
guese? ” the boy asked, pleased with himself at 
being able to hurl a question at his examiner. 

The next query led away from this topic just 
when Thomas believed it was producing results. 

“ What was your father’s figure like? ” 

“Not very tall. But strong. Must have been 
to be a seaman. Perhaps like me.” 

He stood up and turned round. 

“ Are you strong? ” 

“ Stronger than you think,” Thomas reported 
proudly. 

Then his youthful pride, pricked by a question, 
collapsed as a toy balloon would. 

“ How do you know you are strong? ” 

Thomas floundered about and caught at the only 
reason he could think of. 

“ The way I swim and stay under water.” 

“Swim fast?” 


WHERE TOM S FATHER WORKS 95 


He wanted to answer, “ Yes.” But honesty pre¬ 
vented. 

“No. But for a long time. And stay under 
water longer than any other fellow I know.” 

The questions were shifted without any warning. 

“ Could your father be called ‘ Goose 
Frenchie ’? ” 

The son bridled with indignation at the idea of 
the silly word “ goose ” being applied to any one 
belonging to him. 

“ Certainly not! ” he exclaimed, then caught the 
glance in those blue eyes. “ I don’t see how. Can 
you explain it, sir? ” 

“ Can you think it out? ” 

Thomas ran his thoughts back quickly over all 
their questions and answers and pounced upon the 
only word uttered that bore any similarity to 
“ goose.” 

“ Portuguese,” he said half aloud. “ Most often 
called ’Guese. Portuguese Frenchie—then Guese 
Frenchie—then Goose Frenchie. Am I right? ” 

He was sure that he was. 

“ Suppose, for a minute, you’re correct. Why 
would ‘ Goose ’ hang on to a man long after it was 
changed from ‘ Geese ’ and no one could see that 
it started as ‘ Portuguese ’ ? ” 

Thomas dropped his hands and clenched the seat 
of his chair. Then “ Goose ” did have some mean- 


96 IN SINGAPORE 

ing—in spite of the silliness of its sound—to his 
father! 

“Tell me!” he cried. “What do you know 
about my father ? 99 

In spite of himself the words of the first inter¬ 
view kept singing themselves over and over again 
through his throbbing brain:—“ Many ships and 
men start out for ports they never reach.” 

The agonized youth’s next utterance pierced the 
quiet of the room like a pistol shot. 

“ Is he here? ” 

Allmayer held up a warning hand. 

“Gently! Gently!” 

The boy’s face had gone white with anxiety. 

“ It’s too early to say,” the man went on in a low 
tone, trying to restore Thomas’s self-command. 
He paused, looking intently at the drawn face be¬ 
fore him, in which the muscles had grown so tight 
that the lids remained wide apart on the protruding 
eyeballs. 

It was harder for the lad than the Inspector had 
anticipated. He must break this spell at once. 

“ Don’t hope for too much,” he tried to warn 
him. “ We think we’ve found him for you.” 

In spite of his blank expression, Thomas heard 
the words and understood them. His parted dry 
lips uttered a low moan, his distended eyeballs be¬ 
gan to roll, his muscles softened with a creaking 





WHERE TOM’S FATHER WORKS 97 


sound, and his stretched-out arms thudded on the 
table. As his body slumped forward, Inspector 
Allmayer, to whom such a collapse was a daily 
occurrence, adroitly saved his ink from being over¬ 
turned and his papers from being crumpled. 

He waited quietly. 

In a moment Thomas had shaken himself to¬ 
gether and was trying to sit upright in his chair. 

“ There’s the water,” the Inspector told him, for 
he knew that his recovery would be all the quicker 
if he were engaged in doing something for himself. 

“ Here, in Singapore! ” The boy spoke in an 
awed tone as he resumed his seat. 

The Inspector’s warning hand made its slight 
gesture again. 

“We mustn’t go too fast,” he restrained 
Thomas’s optimism. “We mustn’t jump to con¬ 
clusions.” 

“ But you said-” 

“ I said, ‘ We think we’ve found him.’ But in 
my work I have seen as many failures as successes. 
So it’s my rule not to let people hope too soon. It 
saves heartbreaks later. And besides, people who 
are all stirred up with emotional hopes can’t help 
us when we need them most in tight places.” 

“ Tight places? ” repeated Thomas, a sense of 
the seriousness of this interview beginning to dawn 
on him. “ Tight places? Was that why you asked 



98 IN SINGAPORE 

if I had ever carried firearms or could use a 
pistol? ” 

For the first and only time, Inspector Allmayer 
hesitated before he replied. 

“ That may have been it. Remember, only may 
have been. Now, I’ve finished firing questions at 
you, so you must be fair and not pitch any at my 
defenseless bald head. On shipboard you’ve lis¬ 
tened to seamen spinning yarns? ” 

Thomas nodded. 

“ Then listen to this one. For I’ve a yarn to 
spin to you.” 

He began to speak in a low voice, making no 
reference to any notes or records for a date, a fact, 
a name. Every detail of this narrative he had 
mastered so well that it sounded like a story from 
a book he was reading. 

The boy was spellbound. 

“ Nearly thirteen years ago, a battered old tramp 
steamer, short-handed and in bad condition, cleared 
from Penang for Singapore. On it your father 
had shipped as an A. B. in spite of the fact that 
on previous trips he had held higher positions. If 
his whole energy and mind had been set on advanc¬ 
ing in his work, he might easily have gone on up the 
scale rapidly. But he seemed to have some other 
plan in his mind; likely he had saved some money, 
wanted to get home as quickly as possible, and 


WHERE TOM’S FATHER WORKS 99 

jumped at the first ship to get away from a small 
port to a larger one. 

“ Soon after getting out to sea, the boat was hit 
—and hit hard—by one of those sudden fierce 
storms;—not quite a typhoon, but so close that you 
and I can’t tell the difference. That damaged the 
steering gear and the old tub rolled and pitched for 
days in the high seas. 

“ The story told here was that in one of the 
sudden lurches of the ship, your father was pitched 
head first against a steel bulkhead, and that all his 
senses were knocked out of him.” 

“ I knew it must be something like that,” 
Thomas inserted in a low voice. 

“ That made the ship even shorter-handed than 
before and delayed its run here, so you can believe 
that the officers and crew were not an agreeable lot 
when they finally got here—provisions low, ship 
damaged, and coal almost all burned. She was 
fitted and repaired as much as could be, and, as the 
weather was fine, she pushed on to Shanghai for a 
waiting cargo. 

“ All the stories about your father tallied exactly 
and, although we weren’t quite satisfied, there was 
nothing we could do to make the men change their 
reports. We could fasten no suspicion on any one. 
So your father stayed behind in the hospital.” 

“ He’s not there still? ” 





100 


IN SINGAPORE 


“ No. He got well rather quickly. Did your 
father have any enemies? ” 

Thomas shook his head emphatically. 

“ Well, a long time later a story drifted back 
here from the China coast and after being passed 
from mouth to mouth, it came to our ears here. 
But even then it didn’t mean anything. All along 
the Chinese coast, sailors from that tramp steamer 
had more money to squander than they could have 
earned rightly.” 

Thomas leaned forward. 

“ They stole my father’s savings! ” 



THE DRIFTING SAILORS. 


“ Natural conclusion. We, who remembered the 
case, thought that, too. The drifting sailors who 
gassed about the men let out other things—nothing 





, «) 








WHERE TOM’S FATHER WORKS 101 

very definite, but enough to keep the thing in our 
minds, and we became morally certain that the 
story of the fall against the bulkhead to account for 
the skull wound was false.” 

“ They beat my father to steal his money! ” 

“ Your father was a quiet little man who minded 
his own business strictly? ” 

Thomas nodded. 

“ Just the kind of man to provoke bullies in the 
fo’castle. That’s the story we picked up piece by 
piece and fitted together. We are certain that some 
brutal attack was made on him.” 

“ For his money.” Thomas was certain of this 
motive. 

“ At any rate, some one passed on the boasting 
story of a huge European who told that he had 
‘ done for a sneaking, babbling little French-Amer¬ 
ican who knew too much.’ Other circumstances we 
knew made us apply this bragging to your father. 
But you know what liars sailors can be in a grog 
shop with an admiring crowd of hangers-on around 
them, greedily drinking up the story-teller’s 
money.” 

Thomas smiled in spite of himself. 

“ No; I don’t know that.” 

“ Of course you don’t! Well, no matter. Take 
my word for it. They can lie like a blue streak. 
That’s what this fellow may have been doing.” 


102 


IN SINGAPORE 


“ You know better than I do; but this money 
must have been stolen from my father. It all fits 
together so perfectly.” 

“You would say that. But detective work—I 
mean investigating teaches us some strange cer¬ 
tainties that always turn out wrong.” 

He paused for a few seconds. 

“ It is almost a certain thing now that the whole 
outfit from that ship is engaged in illegal trade in 
opium.” 

The effect on his listener was not so great as he 
had expected. Evidently this young adventurer 
from the other side of the globe had no conception 
of the villainy and conspiracies, the wickedness and 
profits, the brains and world-wide combinations, the 
apparent innocence of its worst plotters, the depths 
of depravity in the execution of its plans, the 
eternal watchfulness and far-flung detective force 
attempting to track down its owners and paid 
servants. He stared at the boy in amazement at 
his ignorance of this network of criminal opera¬ 
tions. 

“ Why, even the League of Nations-” he 

began to explain. Then he broke off. 

“ If those men are opium smugglers,” he re¬ 
sumed, “ that easily accounts for all their money, 
and knocks out the theory that they assaulted your 
father to get his small savings.” 



WHERE TOM’S FATHER WORKS 103 

“ Then I don’t understand why-” 

“ Would you join a gang of opium smugglers? 
Certainly not. Would your father? In that storm, 
in that crazy, straining old hulk, things must have 
come to light that your father had never suspected 
before. Food and water were not so precious to 
those men as the safety of that vile drug. And 
when your father suspected or knew about it, un¬ 
less he joined them and shared in their profits, he 
was an unsafe shipmate.” 

The thought of the terrible danger drove the 
blood from Thomas’s face. 

“ We were all surprised that they didn’t throw 
him overboard.” 

Thomas gasped. 

“ And they would have done that if his wits 
hadn’t been made harmless by the blow that closed 
his lips against them. They ran no danger from 
him after that. They might have hoped to be able 
to make use of him. They likely hope that still. 
They may be doing it. He may be helping them 
against his will, not knowing that he’s doing it.” 

The son’s mind rushed sharply back to the pur¬ 
pose of this disclosure, obscured for a time by the 
unrealness of the tale that was being unfolded to 
his unbelieving ears. 

“ How could he help? ” he cried. 

“ Ever hear of amnesia? ” 



104 


IN SINGAPORE 


It aroused only a recollection of magnesia, but he 
knew it must mean something else. His blank look 
answered for him. 

“ Ever hear of aphasia? ” 

“ Loss of speech after some shock? ” he said. 

Inspector Allmayer beamed at his cleverness. 

“ Amnesia’s the same thing, only in the brain. 
All the past is wiped clean off the slate. No mem¬ 
ory, no recollections, no reminiscences. Begins life 
all over again.” 

“ I’ve read of cases in large cities picked up by 
the police.” 

“ Exactly. Your father’s case. Shocked clean 
out of himself. Not sure of his nationality. He 
might be Spanish or Portuguese or French. In 
fact, his French is most fluent. That came back 
soonest. By the way, was he good at figures? ” 

“ I don’t know. But I find mathematics easy 
in school.” 

“You would, then.” 

One thing still puzzled Thomas. 

“ How could he help opium smugglers in spite 
of himself? ” 

“ He’s close to influential Chinese here—power¬ 
ful and wealthy, crafty and skilful beyond belief. 
Everybody knows he was a seafaring man. What 
more natural, then, than for seafaring men to keep 
up their acquaintance with him? Visit him and 



WHERE TOM’S FATHER WORKS 105 


talk over sea experiences—even if he doesn’t re¬ 
member any of his ? He may listen without remem¬ 
bering, too. Another good thing. Living among 
Chinese on one hand and seamen on the other, he 
may innocently be the medium between the con¬ 
trolling minds and the most distant workers. And 
never a lasting trace in his mind, never a fact to 
be brought out in court, never a deed by him that 
involves any other person. A peaceful, quiet, law- 
abiding citizen going about his regular work as 
steadily as any other man in Singapore.” 

“ His work? ” exclaimed Thomas. 

“ Work? Certainly. He’s worked steadily for 
years and years.” 

“ At what? ” 

Inspector Allmayer hesitated before replying. 

“ He’s a croupier.” 

The boy’s face showed no comprehension. 

“ He has charge of the table with the highest 
stakes in the best-regulated gambling house in 
Singapore.” 

Thomas clutched the edge of the table. 

“ What’s it called?” 

The Inspector emitted a few meaningless syl¬ 
lables of Chinese. 

“ In English,” Thomas insisted. 

“ The Yellow Poppy.” 

The boy sprang to his feet. 



106 


IN SINGAPORE 


“ Then I’ve seen him! ” he cried. “ I made him 
angry! He gripped me by the wrist. I thought 
he was going to have me beaten and thrown out! ” 
He gasped for breath, swayed uncertainly for a 
moment, then pitched headlong across the table, 
unconscious. 


CHAPTER VIII 


TWO OTHERS ARRIVE IN SINGAPORE 

The crack coast steamer De JLuxe put into 
Penang one morning to discharge a few passengers 
of varying degrees of wealth and smartness. The 
waiting line of hotel runners scanned the few per¬ 
sons who stepped upon the stone quay from the 
bobbing little landing launch and sighed gloomily 
or shrugged their shoulders in mute protest against 
the dullness of the season. The jinricksha men— 
Malays more accustomed to accept poor business 
as part of destiny’s decree for the lot of man— 
stared blankly into the sun from beneath their low 
conical straw hats and rested on their shafts. 

If a few of that undistinguished line of travelers 
wanted jinrickshas instead of the hotel motor 
busses, they would ask for them. 

The common deck passengers, held behind iron 
gates on the tender’s lower decks until the wealth¬ 
ier passengers had mounted to the pier, scrambled 
up the plank, piled their bulging bundles and 
countless packages around their waists, on their 
backs, on their shoulders, and high on their heads, 
and waddled off with the straight spines and rotat- 

107 


108 IN SINGAPORE 

ing hips developed by bearing burdens on their 
heads. 

One of this last group, a slouching dark-clad 
coolie, slung over his shoulder a bundle caught in 
the crook of a staff. Because this was his only 
burden, he succeeded in getting started before most 
of the first-class travelers, picking out their bags 
and tipping their porters, had been able to extricate 
themselves and start on their way. 

The slouching Chinaman shambled towards the 
waiting line of jinricksha runners, peering keenly 
at their faces as he approached. Before the third 
one he paused for a second and drew his hand across 
his blinking eyes, at the same time sputtering some¬ 
thing in a low voice to the clean-limbed Malay. 
The latter grunted in agreement. Any one notic¬ 
ing the momentary encounter would have explained 
it as a chance remark upon the weather. 

As the jinricksha customers neared, there was a 
temporary spell of inattention on the part of this 
third Malay, by which he lost the patronage of a 
prosperous-looking European whose tip would 
have been a week’s wages. But he was all alert for 
the next customer, though the huge body and the 
unpleasant face made him appear anything but an 
easy rider or a generous payer. 

A European would have set this customer down 
as a low-born colonist, probably Dutch, whose own 


TWO OTHERS ARRIVE 109 

dogged application to hard work and grinding su¬ 
pervision of his native labor had raised him to the 
rank of stock-owning overseer or proprietor of a 
small plantation. Satisfied with that classification, 
he would have added a thought of thankfulness that 



THE JINRICKSHA GRATED OVER THE ROADWAY. 


he was not one of his workmen or one of his cus¬ 
tomers, and would have dismissed him from his 
mind. Had this same observer watched this man 
walk, he might have wondered where he had ac¬ 
quired and where he used the strange, short- 
stepped, rolling gait he practised. 

























110 


IN SINGAPORE 


The runner, now listening to his guttural voice 
issuing directions in up-country Malay, had no dif¬ 
ficulty in placing his race and occupation. This 
man was a low-born child of Asiatic and European 
parents, and he was now, or had been, a toiler on 
the seas. 

The high, light wheels of the jinricksha grated 
over the roadway and the huge mass of red flesh 
sank back in complete content. At a turn into a 
side street he sprang suddenly to life and leaned 
forward in his seat w r ith an abrupt question. The 
runner came to a dead stop and explained that the 
direct route was rough from street repairs;—he 
was going over to the parallel route. 

The passenger’s orders sounded like a curse. 

“ Back to that straight road, and hurry! I can 
stand any jolting you can give me! ” 

Patient and unprotesting as any driven beast of 
burden, the runner turned back into the main 
artery and went on his way carefully and slowly, 
not caring to put to the test the burly rider’s boast 
of endurance. 

The paunchy neck of the prosperous planter 
bulged into horizontal ridges above his tight collar; 
his buttons strained across his distended stomach; 
his bowlegs turned his knees outward; his freckled 
hands jostled on the cushions of the seat and on the 
arm-rests; his staring eyes gazed upon the com- 


TWO OTHERS ARRIVE 


111 


fortable buildings lining the street ; he seemed ac¬ 
tually to bask like some tropical animal in the sun 
that most persons avoided. 

When they arrived at the fifth-class hotel, with 
its gaudy, narrow entrance, the Malay was able to 
retain his hold on one piece of baggage in spite of 
the grabs of the hotel boy, and thus he was enabled 
to trail after the guest to the small oilcloth-covered 
table that served as desk. The old, wrinkle-faced 
German—clerk as well as proprietor—held his pen 
poised in air as the broad hulk of a man darkened 
the brilliant patch of sunlight in the doorway. 
When the waddling gait had brought the moving 
figure into range of his short sight, a grin began 
to spread over his inquiring face. 

The Malay had leaned over to deposit the bag 
he was carrying, but his ear caught the hotel 
owner’s welcoming remark. 

“ Hello, Hanson,” he said. “ Back again? ” 

A grin beneath Hanson’s nose was the only an¬ 
swer as the Malay pattered down the passage to 
the pavement. 

It was strange that now, with no passenger’s 
comfort to regard and with the best chances for 
another fare among the walkers on this principal 
avenue, the runner should turn into a cross-street 
to reach that parallel route along which he had 
thoughtfully intended to conduct the transformed 



112 


IN SINGAPORE 


Hanson—the brawling, driving, cursing ship's 
boatswain, magically moving about like a moneyed 
landowner. The odds were all against his finding 
any business along this back street, oversupplied as 
it was by extra runners avoiding the roughness of 
the paving on the main route. But good luck was 
his, for the most unpromising pedestrian selected 
him from a line of walking jinricksha drivers and 
halted him at the curb. Unpromising this person 
had appeared to every other seeker after custom, 
for he was a weak old Chinaman shuffling along in 
a drab coolie costume, carrying his few worldly 
possessions in a cloth swinging from the notch in 
a staff on his shoulder. 

If the Malay had ever before laid eyes on this 
inconspicuous figure, or had ever heard the sound 
of his voice, with its Malay words highly colored by 
a crude Chinese laborer’s accent, he betrayed no 
sign of recognition or recollection as he pressed his 
chest against the bar between the shafts and jogged 
away. Yet, whether he knew it or not, his hunched- 
over, swaying passenger was the same coolie who 
had landed on the dock from the steamship tender, 
half an hour earlier. 

The subsequent actions of this strangely assorted 
pair were even more unusual. Had any one been 
able to follow all the changes of that day and the 
next he would have been tempted to call them mys- 


TWO OTHERS ARRIVE 


113 


tifying. But no one marked them—at least the 
Malay jinricksha owner hoped that no one had 
followed them. 

Arrived at the quiet little lodging-house at the 
termination of that first drive, a brief question 
brought the information that all the lodgers were 
out at work or were sight-seeing. Thus no person 
was idling about to wonder at the strange spectacle 
of a Malay politely attending a poor old Chinaman 
to his room in an obscure lodging-house. 

When the Malay unlocked and pushed back the 
chamber door, the coolie gave a quick glance into 
the room and uttered an exclamation of satisfac¬ 
tion. On the chair between the bed and the wall 
was a low, stout traveling-box of European manu¬ 
facture. From a cord around his neck he detached 
a key, and the Malay, as quick and wide-awake as 
he had seemed dull and unnoticing in the street, 
promptly threw back the lid, while the supposed 
coolie was rapidly dropping his tattered clothes in 
a pile on the floor. 

In a few rapid phrases the attending Malay 
reported on his first passenger. 

“ Good! ” approved the Chinaman. “You heard 
his name? Though there was no chance of mistak¬ 
ing him. And his hotel? He’ll stay over to-night, 
at least. I must know when he’s leaving. But I’ll 
get that information for myself.” 


114 


IN SINGAPORE 


The Malay raised his head from near the floor, 
where he was sorting the discarded garments. 

“ What name here? ” he asked. 

“ Same as usual.” 

“ Where next, do you think? ” 

“ Not certain. Singapore, I think.” 

“ That’s good,” the Malay commented. 

“ Yes. It’s always easier to work in cities. 
Crowds of people always help us.” 

A delighted smile broke over the Malay’s placid 
countenance. The game this time must be a large 
and certain one to make the chief say so much. 
Compared with most of their meetings, this one was 
making both of them positively talkative. They 
might even go so far as to talk about themselves 
and what they wanted. 

He wanted to go to Singapore. He said so. 

The Chinaman—busy with the contents of the 
box—snapped his teeth. His answer was an end 
to that kind of conversation. 

“ Perhaps.” 

In silence he drew forth his wearing apparel. 

The apparent bundle of clothes swinging from 
his staff was next revealed as a worn leather travel¬ 
ing-bag. When the Malay descended from the 
room a few minutes later, he carried under his arm 
a small bulging parcel wrapped in a piece of the 
Penang newspaper. It might contain a pair of 




TWO OTHERS ARRIVE 115 

shoes for the cobbler or soiled linen for the neigh¬ 
borhood laundry. That night in his suburb hut the 
Malay burned the coolie disguise of his visiting 
chief. 

Two days later Hanson boarded the train from 
Penang. His only thought was of the thin cigar 
he was puffing. He had had too much association 
and experience with the Orient to look down with 
any air of superiority upon the mixture of races 
on the station platform, simply because he hap¬ 
pened to have some European blood in his veins 
while they were not so blessed. But his general 
satisfaction with the world at large and the good 
cigar he was rolling between his lips and teeth made 
him inattentive to people who simply did not con¬ 
cern him. 

Fashions and peculiarities of dress, which strike 
the eyes and draw the smothered laughter of first¬ 
time visitors to this land of contrasts, no longer 
meant anything to Hanson. Even had he let his 
thoughts concern themselves with the neatly clad 
occupant of the last compartment in his coach, he 
would have accepted him as some hard-working 
Chinaman who had made enough money in Europe 
or America to retire and, now returning to his na¬ 
tive land, had not yet had the urge to discard the 
shoes, the coat, the trousers, and the hat of his 
Western life. Or he might have thought con- 


116 


IN SINGAPORE 


temptuously that the simple-minded Celestial 
wanted to flash his attire on his native townspeople 
and dazzle them with his tailored magnificence. 

His cigar would have lost its flavor and the day 
its comfort, however, could he have known that the 
Chinaman, on whom his eyes rested for a moment 
unreflectingly, had observed keenly from behind 
his horn-rimmed glasses every detail of Hanson, 
every movement he made. The taste of the to¬ 
bacco on his tongue would have turned sour and the 
odor of the smoke in his nostrils would have become 
blistering had he suspected that the slight China¬ 
man knew his name, his former position, where he 
had spent the past year, how long he had been in 
Penang, where he was going, and for what pur¬ 
pose. Ignorant of all these disturbing things, 
Hanson stretched and yawned with pleasant com¬ 
fort as the express drew slowly from the station 
platform and gained its racing speed for the long 
run to the southern end of the peninsula. 

Other passengers might fret and fume over the 
heat and dirt of the train ride, but the prosperous 
Eurasian and the tidy Europeanized Chinese gen¬ 
tleman never lost their perfect composure. Sev¬ 
eral times they passed each other in the corridor, 
or one of them let his eyes glide over the other, but 
never was there the slightest change in their expres¬ 
sions to show that one was closely observing every 


TWO OTHERS ARRIVE 


117 


movement of the other. Hanson’s stupid exterior 
masked not only a cruel mind and a beastly nature, 
but a shrewdness and cunning almost animal in 
many of its powers. But his voyage from America 
as a hard-working boatswain, he reasoned, must 
have thrown off the scent any person with any in¬ 
terest in his actions or suspicion of his plans. His 
desertion of the ship bothered him not at all. There 
were dozens of men in Indian ports anxious to 
work on return voyages to the States. 

Only one thing rankled in his mind when he 
thought about it. Who on that ship had dared to 
throw him overboard? That it was an accident he 
refused to believe. Had he stayed on the vessel he 
would have learned by now, if he had had to 
strangle the senses out of some man to find out. 

His thoughts turned pleasantly to the present 
journey through flat lands and jungle edges fa¬ 
miliar to him, and dwelt with satisfied anticipation 
on the purpose of this trip and its profits to a large 
number of persons—but most of all its huge re¬ 
turns to him. 

Just then the trim figure of the Chinese passed 
the opening of the compartment. As his shadow 
flitted across Hanson’s face he turned his eyes 
towards him. 

“Stuck-up Chink!” was his inward comment. 
And he dismissed him from his mind. 


118 IN SINGAPORE 

An hour after his arrival at the most luxurious 
hotel in Singapore, the retired Chinese, looking 
more than ever like a wealthy, loitering tourist, saw 
approaching him on the main avenue the young 
purser’s assistant from the Portlander . Thomas’s 
staring eyes seemed fixed upon the advancing man, 
but in reality he was seeing nothing, for the events 
of the night before at The Yellow Poppy were still 
fresh in his mind and he was aimlessly pacing the 
streets to fill in the days before he should return 
to the police for the report on his father. 

The Chinaman swerved sharply to the right and 
became absorbed in the window display of a dealer 
in jewelry and carved ivory. Pieces of cheap Ori¬ 
ental craftsmanship for which he would not give 
two cents suddenly became of supreme attraction. 
With one eye fixed upon the line of parading ele¬ 
phants carved from a tusk—the commonest sou¬ 
venir from the Orient—he could still observe the 
reflection of passers-by in the show-window glass. 

He became overcautious. Drawing his soft 
white handkerchief from his pocket he pressed it 
against his face. The gesture appeared perfectly 
natural—he might have been perspiring; but he 
used this screen to prevent his face from being seen 
by any one. 

The boy’s glance never wavered for an instant 
from straight before him. 



TWO OTHERS ARRIVE 


119 


The mysterious Chinese gentleman reproved 
himself with a shrug, folded the fair white square 
carefully, shifted his native malacca cane, and 
glanced at the receding figure of the absorbed boy. 

“ Silly of me, perhaps,” the man told himself as 
he resumed his leisurely stroll. “ His mind is intent 
on his own affairs.” 

And with his trained eyes he picked out the lum¬ 
bering back of Hanson half a block away and fol¬ 
lowed him as he had been doing before Thomas’s 
approach had flustered him. 

The unseeing Thomas had in three minutes 
passed within touching distance of a twisting 
thread of many lives that was destined to coil 
tightly about his own. 


CHAPTER IX 


A son’s rights over his father 

Enough aspects of his father’s malady were 
explained to Thomas to make him realize the hope¬ 
lessness of any sudden change in his disposition or 
mode of living. Cut off, as his mind was, from all 
connection with his own past, it was impossible to 
predict his action in any circumstance based on that 
past. His early days, his travels, his marriage, his 
son, his short stay with the Johnsons, his separation 
from Thomas, his remittances of money to pay for 
the child’s clothes and rearing, his wanderings 
about the world, the brawl on the ship, the hospital 
stay—all these facts of his former existence had 
vanished totally from his brain. 

When asked about his youth, if he answered at 
all, he made up some vague yarn about a boyhood 
on ships, but always ships coasting in the Orient. 
His American associations had ceased to exist for 
him. His belief in his imagined life was strength¬ 
ened by the quickness of his reversion to Spanish 
and French, the languages he spoke years before 
his accident. He pieced together bits from other 
men’s lives and innocently appropriated them for 

120 



A SON S RIGHTS 


121 


himself. No one could say him nay when he—as 
he rarely did—replied to inquiries about his early 
years. The Singapore authorities with whom he 
had contacts at his first arrival understood his case 
medically, but had no clews to base identification 
upon. He was merely another living lost soul. 
When he found regular work in The Yellow Poppy 
and could support himself decently and quietly, 
giving no offense, causing no trouble, needing no 
charity, asking no assistance, showing pride in the 
recovery of his health, they felt there was nothing 
they could do for him. 

Nothing in this agreeable arrangement was 
changed except that Thomas’s yearning for certain 
news of his parent had been powerful enough to 
draw him halfway round the globe. Now that he 
had seen his father, there rose in his youthful mind 
a doubt of his mission. 

Had he—total stranger that he now was—the 
right to step in and upset the pleasant life his father 
was leading? Twice at least the poor man had 
suffered terrible shocks; the second was merciful 
because it left upon him no mental anguish, no 
terrifying regrets for his vanished youth, no long¬ 
ings for his own people, no anguish for his stranger 
son. If not of great moment here in the world’s 
affairs, he certainly was passably happy. Who 
would be rash enough to dispel that content? 





122 


IN SINGAPORE 

Yet he belonged to Thomas, and Thomas be¬ 
longed to him. More than that, the son believed, 
they belonged not only to each other but with each 
other. His heart yearned towards his unsuspecting 
father. Happy and content his existence might 
appear; but shall a man be content only with what 
satisfies him at any one time? All the children 
Thomas knew had been happy with their families, 
yet that did not prevent them from being ambitious 
to carve out careers for themselves. Why, he him¬ 
self could have gone on always being a common 
laborer about the harbor docks, but he had deter¬ 
mined to be a marine architect. He was already on 
the rungs—the lowest ones, it was true—of the 
ladder of success. 

In his present condition his father might be per¬ 
fectly content with the Orient, knowing nothing 
better, asking nothing better for himself. There 
were better things that life should give him. As 
the years went on, what future could he have? 
What old age? 

Suppose by some healing process of time, or by 
some sudden stroke that the cloud upon his mind 
should be lifted, the darkness cleared. Suppose 
some spark of ambition should glow again, only 
to be quenched because alone he could not keep it 
burning. Suppose there were some brawl at The 
Yellow Poppy. There might be a blow with a 



123 


A SON’S RIGHTS 

chair, a thrust with a knife, a shot with a pistol— 
and a tiny paragraph of a death notice in the Sing¬ 
apore newspapers; not even a notice to Thomas, 
unless he provided long in advance for its being 
mailed to him. 

Thomas’s face flushed every time he thought of 
the work his father was doing. Attendant in a 
gambling joint! A croupier! A parasite, paid 
with the money lost by infected persons who 
spurned hard, honest toil, who hoped for ease and 
affluence from the turn of a card, the roll of dice, 
the click of a whirring wheel. There had been 
games and innocent amusements in the Johnson 
home, but there had been a simple, homely insist¬ 
ence upon the worth of real work, upon the foolish¬ 
ness of trusting only to luck, upon the soundness 
of honest ambition to rise in the world. The ups 
and downs—mostly downs—of improvident neigh¬ 
bors had afforded sterling Mrs. Johnson with all 
the illustrations she needed to point her morals and 
adorn her tales. Delicately, yet firmly, she had im¬ 
bedded in Thomas the knowledge that his future 
was in his own control, the feeling that he should 
rise to an important place in the affairs of life. 
Thomas had teased Bill Johnson for wanting to 
become a merchant prince; yet now, years later in 
lonely, distant Singapore, he recognized in that 
desire of the son the helpful affection of the mother. 



124 IN SINGAPORE 

His own father deserved a better life than the 
one afforded by these Malay States. 

If Thomas had been reunited to a prosperous 
father with all his faculties intact, he would have 
felt an awkwardness amounting to embarrassment. 
A sense of prying into another man’s affairs would 
have overpowered him and stifled his natural affec¬ 
tion. The older man would have awed him, boy 
that he still was. 

On the surface, if his father had been normal, 
Thomas’s feelings would have been more difficult, 
his open acts easier to control. In the circum¬ 
stances in which he now found himself, his emotions 
were straightforward and sweeping, but his neces¬ 
sary actions were so wrapped in uncertainty that 
the boy was plunged almost to the depths of de¬ 
spair. The clearness of his reason urged him to let 
well enough alone—to take the first steamer he 
could get to rejoin the Portlander and hurry home. 
Any one who heard the details could not blame him. 
For hours he forced himself to study conditions 
carefully and to examine this resolution. Why 
not? The present was sure; any change was risky, 
fraught with appalling dangers. 

He was assured in his own mind that the police 
authorities of the city took this view and that In¬ 
spector Allmayer expected him to return with this 
decision. One morning he had started from his 



A SON’S RIGHTS 


125 


room to tell him so; and one afternoon he had 
turned from gazing on the crowded shipping in the 
harbor. Neither time had he reached the Inspec¬ 
tor’s office. Both times his steps, guided by his 
yearning, while his reason counseled a different 
plan, had drawn him into the quiet streets in the 
neighborhood of The Yellow Poppy. 

On the other hand, how much influence may one 
person owe the life of another? How much re¬ 
sponsibility may a son assume over the life of his 
father? Is affection a safe guide for influencing 
the life of another person? 

Even his few years had given Thomas the op¬ 
portunity of observing near-tragedies caused by 
interference based on selfish affection. He had 
seen blind love act like a cruel tyrant over the lives 
of others. 

He writhed in agony over his own feelings. Was 
his overmastering desire to take his father away 
from his present life merely a false show of suprem¬ 
acy, the ungenerous display of the control of the 
strong over the weak? Was his affection no more 
than a selfish one? 

As a child he had smarted under the irregularity 
of his position. Other children had, if not both 
mother and father, at least one parent living in the 
same house. The fortunes of seafaring folk might 
separate relatives for long periods, but other boys 


126 


IN SINGAPORE 


knew where their fathers happened to be, the names 
of their ships, the locations of their ports, their 
temporary homes. Best of all for these other boys, 
they could boast of the approaching home-coming 
of these wanderers upon all the seas of the globe; 
and when the fabled strangers did appear, the boys 
could retell to their gaping fellows snatches of the 
travelers’ stories. For Thomas there had been none 
of these joys. 

Was his strong desire to take his father back to 
his native land a continuance of that boyish sense 
of incompleteness in his family relationships? 

Over and over again, back and forth through his 
wearied brain, these thoughts and feelings passed 
and surged until he had no sleep by night, no calm 
by day. Torn between these two possible decisions 
he tossed upon his bed, praying for the light of 
day to bring relief. By day he forced his aching 
legs to bear him along the sea front, in and out of 
streets, through all the quarters, out along the 
marsh roads, and up into the hills, in a vain effort 
to tire his body to exhaustion and so gain a night 
of refreshing sleep. 

Stung by a waking vision of the treatment his 
father had been subjected to on his last ship, 
Thomas, racked with mental and physical anguish, 
sprang from his bed early one morning and rushed 
to his window. There he steadied himself by cling- 


127 


A SON’S RIGHTS 

ing to the frame and forcing his eyes to watch the 
slow changes of the approaching dawn. 

“ I must settle this now.” He spoke aloud to 
impress his determination upon his faculties. 



“ I must settle this now,” he repeated, “ or I shall 
go mad. Then there would be two of us lost. 
And I will not be! ” 

He breathed in a cool draught of air. Only at 
this time in the whole cycle of twenty-four hours 
did the air seem refreshing in this sun-kindled land. 























128 


IN SINGAPORE 


His determination to help himself grew. 

“ And I will not be! ” he told himself in a firmer 
tone. 

Weakened by long wakefulness, and weary of 
the balancing of results against causes, the cold 
reasoning faculty of his brain was worn to rest. 
Asking only comfort, crying for some loving one 
to share his anxiety, to comfort his cries, the lonely 
youth was conscious of a rising desire to be loved 
by some one, as well as to find some one whom 
he might love. 

He announced his determination aloud. 

“ I’ll take you away from all of this, Father.” 

A great weight seemed to slip away from his 
chest, while his thoughts grew more and more 
clouded. His legs bent under the dead weight of 
his worn-out body. A wave of darkness rose to 
meet him as he sank; then everything went black. 

Hours later a cramp in one of his legs aroused 
him long enough to enable him to crawl from the 
floor to his disordered bed. 

He slept throughout the day, rising to hear the 
clatter of dishes at the evening meal. 


CHAPTER X 


THE FIRST SQUARE BOX 

It was a much changed Thomas that paced the 
streets the day after he had awakened from the re¬ 
freshing sleep produced by his mental struggle and 
the unwavering decision he had made. 

On his arrival in Singapore he had looked with 
mild amusement on those Westerners who aped the 
garb and habits of the East. But now that he had 
a definite purpose, he felt less like a Westerner 
than before; he wanted to enter as fully as he 
could into all the Oriental customs. 

With a jauntiness he would have called impos¬ 
sible, he donned immaculate white trousers and coat 
and—wonder of wonders—clapped upon his erect 
skull one of those turtle-shaped white pith helmets 
of which he had read in books and over which he had 
pondered before haberdashery windows. The hat 
seemed peculiar to him for a day, but he pro¬ 
nounced it sensible at once. The little patch of 
shade it threw on the tender back of his neck and 
the free circulation of air through his tousled hair 
were its first comforts. 

Keen eyes had photographed his looks that first 

129 


130 


IN SINGAPORE 


time he had entered and left The Yellow Poppy. 
But keener still would have been the eyes that 
found in this dapper figure the crestfallen player 
who had made his way out after the little disturb¬ 
ance he had caused. 

He changed his habits to conform to the hours 
of the gambling establishments. He slept in the 
daytime, rose at five or six o’clock, and went to bed 
in the morning after the night life of the city had 
sunk to inaction. 

The first time he could summon up enough cour¬ 
age and coolness he sought admittance at The Yel¬ 
low Poppy. He was almost the earliest arrival. 
Hurrying to the table where he had seen his father, 
he found him calmly and methodically sorting and 
piling coins. The older man cast an incurious look 
at this youth, whom he took for an overanxious 
sight-seer too ready to lose his superfluous cash. 

“ Let him,” was his inward comment. 

Thomas, whose heart beat fast and whose breath 
came hard in spite of all his apparent control of 
himself, sank into the chair at the croupier’s right. 

The man seemed unaware of his arrival. 

“ Too early? ” Thomas asked. 

Immediately he felt the question silly. 

There was no answer. 

“ How late do you stay here? ” 

The eyes gazed on him for a second. 


THE FIRST SQUARE BOX 131 

“ Play stops at five o’clock.” 

Thomas gulped at the boldness of his next ques¬ 
tion. 

“ Do you sleep—live here—in this building? ” 

A flicker of wonder passed over the face of the 
older Dubois, but he did answer. 

“ What’s that to you? ” 

Thomas had pledged himself to keep perfectly 
calm and to force all his remarks to seem absolutely 
casual, but he was young and impetuous and in no 
way aware of the complicated and long relation¬ 
ships that his slightest move might disturb. He 
glanced around quickly to see if the superior Chi¬ 
nese accountant was in sight. 

“ Listen,” he began to plead in quick, low tones, 
on the verge of giving all his hopes eloquent 
phrases, but saving himself from complete disclo¬ 
sure just in time. “ Listen,” he began again, “ I’d 
like to talk with you so we’ll not be disturbed. If 
you live here, when may I come? ” 

He waited breathlessly. Oh, why wouldn’t the 
cloud pass from his father’s mind! Why couldn’t 
he simply call to him, “ I’m Thomas, your boy! 
I’ve come to take you away with me! ” 

The other was not at all impressed by the young 
man’s request. He heard too many foolish and 
unreasonable remarks. Did this young fool believe 
there was a “ system ” of beating the game and 



132 


IN SINGAPORE 


making off with all the stakes? Other fabulously 
wealthy or mathematically trained gamblers had 
tried before this to bribe him into fixing the wheel 
or betraying its mechanical defects. Did the win¬ 
ning numbers run in series that could be predicted? 
Many of the habitues of the game pretended that 
they could see a regular sequence. If they could 
only learn how and when that sequence was inter¬ 
rupted by some change in the delicate adjustment 
of the disc! 

A faint smile broke at the corner of his lips. The 
youngster’s plot was so transparent! 

“ It’s no go, sonny,” he said. “ Try another 
tack. Play here if you want to, but don’t work for 
any inside information.” 

This was maddening. Other early arrivals were 
strolling about the room now; soon the tables would 
be surrounded and the regular monotonous business 
of the night would begin. 

“ I must see you,” Thomas insisted. “ Not for 
my own sake, but for yours! ” 

His father’s eyes stared at him searchingly. 

“ What could you have to do with me? ” he asked 
pointedly. “ I never saw you before.” 

“ Oh, yes, you have! ” Thomas exclaimed, about 
to declare their relationship. But he snapped his 
teeth shut. It was a lame conclusion, but he did 
add, “ I’ve been here before.” 


THE FIRST SQUARE BOX 133 

“ So have thousands of others/’ retorted Dubois 
as if to end the pointless conversation. 

And try as he would, the balked Thomas could 
elicit no other reply. He racked his brain for every 
possible topic to induce talk, until nearly all the 
chairs around the table were occupied. Then his 
father turned to him politely. 

“ Unless you’re going to play steadily, I wonder 
if you’d mind letting me have that chair.” 

Thomas humbly rose, while a fat Chinese mer¬ 
chant puffed into his accustomed place, and the 
first call of “ Faites vos jeux, Mesdames, Mes¬ 
sieurs ” floated through the room. 

Thomas, standing opposite to watch his father, 
staked a coin. What happened he did not com¬ 
prehend, but eight other coins were adroitly pushed 
towards him, and his neighbor nudged him to 
gather them in. The gaming desire seized him. His 
first impulse was to wager one of the new coins at 
once, but a thought checked him. If he played only 
rarely, these coins would permit him to stay longer 
in The Yellow Poppy. He would space his plays 
as far apart as he dared. 

In the earliest of the short recesses, when the 
attendants carried moneys and reports to the office 
and made change and rested, a burly figure brushed 
past Thomas and overtook Dubois. Timing his 
step with that of the shorter man, he leaned down 


134 


IN SINGAPORE 


and spoke a few words close to the other’s ear. 
Thomas, watching his back, could see the animation 
that marked his attention and his answers. 

Returning from the wire-cage desk, Dubois was 
again met by the same acquaintance. The expres¬ 
sions that passed over his countenance were so dif¬ 
ferent from his impassiveness at the roulette table 
that Thomas circled about the walls of the lobby 
to learn what kind of man this might be who could 
so easily interest his father. 

His feet faltered; his heart pounded. He moved 
behind a chatting group to be out of the creature’s 
range of vision. There was no mistaking the fact. 
In spite of barber and tailor, in spite of lowered 
voice instead of yelling curses, in spite of hands 
stuck deep into trousers’ pockets instead of dealing 
blows, that man with whom Dubois was exchanging 
understanding looks and meaning remarks was the 
boatswain of the Portlander —Hanson! 

It was unbelievable! 

“ Beg pardon,” muttered Thomas to the man he 
had jostled in his blundering haste to get into some 
distant place. He wanted to let this frightening 
fact sink into his comprehension and pull himself 
together before he observed any other unbelievable 
things. 

Halfway across the room from the chatting 
Hanson and Dubois stood two Chinese, clad in the 


THE FIRST SQUARE BOX 135 

most luxurious dark-colored silks, discussing the 
rice market in scattered sentences. 

The older, by glancing above the other’s shoulder 
—apparently at the stopped clock on the mantel— 
could take in, as if by accident, the sides of the 
croupier and the former seaman. Into his range 
of vision he had watched Thomas move. From the 
boy’s fixed stare he had learned that he, also, was 
watching the same pair. He saw the startled 
change in the youth’s face; he watched him falter 
and grasp the chair; he observed that though he 
was plainly drawn by Dubois, he was affected by 
the recognition of Hanson; he watched his un¬ 
certain flight from the room. 

“ Go on talking,” he directed his companion in 
a low voice. 

But he paid absolutely no attention to anything 
the other said as he outlined the prospects of a sur¬ 
plus of rice with a resulting drop in the price. 

“ That boy again,” the older man was saying to 
himself. “ And Hanson. But where does Dubois 
come in? ” 

The transformed boatswain swayed on his legs. 
His eyes might turn in their direction. So the 
watcher delicately trailed his long fingers across his 
brow, as if in absorbed attention to the rice market 
prospect, but at the same time effectually conceal¬ 
ing most of his face from any chance observer. 


136 


IN SINGAPORE 


For this wealthy native was the same Chinese 
who had traveled on the train with Hanson, the 
same faultlessly dressed Europeanized Oriental 
who had been startled into covering his face with 
his handkerchief when he had seen Thomas ap¬ 
proaching on the street. 

Hanson and Dubois he thought he could under¬ 
stand. But why the young man? 

Almost hypnotized by the acquaintance between 
Dubois and Hanson, Thomas followed every move¬ 
ment of the latter with consuming attention. When 
Hanson turned from a rapid game of faro and di¬ 
rected his course to the outer door Thomas followed 
as though he were tracking an animal. His task 
was easy—too easy; it resulted only in bitter dis¬ 
appointment. Hanson was going nowhere except 
to his dull hotel. 

Fifteen minutes before the closing hour at The 
Yellow Poppy Thomas slunk down the narrow 
passage leading to the dim electric globe that, with 
all its dull glow, was still helpful in the depths of 
the narrow canyon into which the approaching light 
of day had not yet penetrated fully. 

It must help him. 

He scanned its whole length, seeking some place 
to hide. There was not a projection behind which 
he could flatten himself. He passed along it with 
silent tread, pressing his hands against the smooth 


THE FIRST SQUARE BOX 137 

walls in search of some sheltering recess that his 
eye had not detected. He found nothing. 

Then he hit on a plan of action that would keep 
him in the passageway without arousing suspicion 
in the doorkeeper, who expected no new arrivals at 
this time, and who, therefore, had nothing to do ex¬ 
cept to open the door for departing patrons. He 
would not—if luck favored Thomas—peer through 
his peep-hole. So he stood near the door and when 
he heard the steps of leaving guests he casually 
sauntered away from the door in plain view of 
them, appearing like a patron who had left just 
before they did. Then he would make his way 
back as far as he could before the next departures. 
If many seemed about to leave, he would wait a 
short distance from the steps, as if expecting to be 
joined by members of a party. 

When he was certain that the guests had all gone 
he flattened himself against the wall beside the 
doorway and hoped that the employees would 
hurry out and make their way home. If only his 
father would come! 

So long did his wait last that he feared there 
must be another exit for the attendants, or that 
they might sleep and live in the building. 

A few tired figures clattered wearily down the 
steps and, with never a glance to right or left, made 
a bee-line down the middle of the way to the street. 


138 


IN SINGAPORE 


The departures became fewer and fewer, yet 
Thomas waited. 

His heart gave a great leap. That was his fa¬ 
ther’s back receding before him. Stealthily he be¬ 
gan to move after him, praying that there might be 
enough early workers on the streets to mask his 
movements. Into the byways he had to plunge al¬ 
most at once, quickening his steps to keep his fa¬ 
ther’s moving figure in sight. Darker and darker 
grew the air; closer and closer together leaned the 
rickety balconies of the tall houses above him; 
rougher and rougher became the paving beneath 
his feet; more and more populated the slums; 
smellier and smellier the foods displayed for sale or 
stored behind the front walls; more and more over¬ 
powering the odors wafted upwards from damp 
cellars and out of twisting entrances. 

Thomas thanked his lucky stars that Orientals, 
especially Chinese, are so incurious, at least appear 
so little concerned by what goes on around them. 
He was in mortal terror lest his father be told of 
the Westerner so plainly following him, or lest 
some leering street beggar bar his way with loud 
cries, or lest some quarreler drag him into a broil. 
If they did notice him, they let him see no sign of it. 

“ Probably put me down as a white fool,” he 
commented to himself. “ Maybe they’re right, at 
that.” 


THE FIRST SQUARE BOX 139 

The damp stench, rather than any clear view, 
told him that they were near the huddled mess of 
rat-trap, matfch-box structures near the Chinese 
water-front. In the narrow alley, whose stenches 
almost made him sick, he could just make out his 
father close to the left wall. And then he wasn’t 
there at all! 

Hastening his steps, Thomas found the door 
through which he must have vanished. Gathering 
all his courage he pushed against it. Locked! 

Here, then, he must wait to see if his father 
would come out again. 

Was this where he lived? The thought turned 
Thomas’s stomach. From this kind of existence 
he must be rescued, no matter what the cost or 
effort. 

Moving farther on, so that he would not be seen 
by his father if he should appear again, Thomas 
watched. Less than five minutes later his father 
reappeared, bearing a square package neatly 
wrapped. He set off at a brisk pace in the direc¬ 
tion from which he had come, but soon turned away 
from the center of the city and walked rapidly 
towards the suburbs. 

“ Then he does live in a decent place,” Thomas 
rejoiced, “ though he certainly goes to an awful 
hole for some of his supplies.” 

There were fewer pedestrians on this well-kept 


140 


IN SINGAPORE 


street, but regularly planted trees afforded Thomas 
places at which to stop for the apparent purpose 
of making a botanical study. 

“ Look sharp! ” he ordered himself, swerving to 
take advantage of one of these welcome screens. 

He had caught sight of Hanson, not fifty feet 
from his father, approaching at a leisurely stroll. 
Where had he come from? Had he been sheltered 
b y a tree trunk farther along the roadway? 



he’s carrying that package now ! ” 


The two men met and stopped. Their few re¬ 
marks seemed animated; at any rate, Thomas could 
see a great deal of gesticulating on the part of 
Hanson. When they separated Dubois walked on 























THE FIRST SQUARE BOX 141 

rapidly, his arms swinging vigorously. Dragging 
his eyes from him and watching Hanson, who soon 
crossed to the other side of the road, Thomas had 
to clap his hand over his mouth to smother his ex¬ 
clamation of astonishment. 

“ He’s carrying that package now! ” 

It was true. Dubois had not been laying in sup¬ 
plies for himself. He had procured something for 
Hanson. What was it? 

Hanson was not the man to carry it back to 
town. He hailed a loitering jinricksha and clam¬ 
bered in. As it flashed past, Thomas could see the 
square box held firmly between Hanson’s feet. 
Mysterious as all this was, he was not following 
Hanson. He turned to gaze after his father. 

He had vanished. 

Puzzled though Thomas was, the explanation 
was no mystery. A jinricksha, used to carry Han¬ 
son from the city, had been ordered to wait and 
bear Dubois for a morning ride to the outskirts of 
the city and back. 

Thomas turned his lagging feet homeward, his 
brain a jumble of the experiences of the night, a 
blank concerning his next movements. 

Hanson and his precious package were soon de¬ 
posited at his hotel. His jinricksha’s next fare, 
picked up at the corner, was a dilapidated coolie, 
who gossiped with the Malay driver in low chuck- 


142 


IN SINGAPORE 


les. No one would have thought of listening to 
their sing-song phrases interrupted by gasps and 
jolts, but had Thomas overheard and been able to 
understand their strange dialect his hair would have 
risen from his head. 

“ Dubois—one square box,” called the Malay 
runner. 

“ Yes. I saw it. Must have changed the shape.” 

“ Holds a lot.” 

“ Looks now like tin box of biscuits,” observed 
the Chinese. 

“ Met on road outside city, thirty minutes away 
from here.” 

“Dubois got it same place, I suppose?” 

“ Think so.” 

“ American boy following Dubois,” added the 
Malay. 

“ That boy? Again? I’ll have to think all this 
over.” 

And the coolie’s face became much more intel¬ 
ligent than any coolie’s face should be, so its owner 
drew his conical hat down over his brow and pre¬ 
tended to doze. 



CHAPTER XI 


KIDNAPED 

That day Thomas slept late. Again, after his 
evening meal, he undressed and went to bed at 
once, lying quietly until sheer boredom forced him 
into a slumber that lasted for hours. He had bor¬ 
rowed Manchester’s alarm clock, promising to reset 
it for him and place it just inside his door so that 
it would rout him at his accustomed hour. 

“ Don’t forget to do that,” Manchester had 
warned him. “ I swear at that thing every morn¬ 
ing of my life. The day wouldn’t be right if I 
began it in any other way.” 

So Thomas turned over at two-thirty, when it 
began to tremble with its shrill pulsations, buried 
it under the covers, shut off its strident tones, and 
slipped quietly from his bed. Dressing hurriedly, 
he paused at Manchester’s door to deposit the 
metal disturber, then walked slowly towards The 
Yellow Poppy. 

This time he believed he could stay inside until 
closing time—no, after closing time. 

He moved among the patrons, wondering how 
many of them were attendants in disguise, ready 
to spring upon any person who disturbed the calm 

143 



144 


IN SINGAPORE 


routine of the night’s work. He searched for a 
possible hiding place. Screens were out of the 
question; they were too easily overturned or folded 
up flat. Just off the roulette room he noticed a 
door. Where did it lead? 

Chance favored him. A slight pressure on the 
knob told him that it was unlocked. He passed 
it again five minutes later. He was quite alone. 
Beyond the door was blackness, and a damp smell 
of cellars. Steps led down. He could slip in there 
and wait. 

And be locked in when the servant went his 
rounds to make all safe for the night? 

He ran the tips of his fingers along the end of 
the round iron bolt. It was roughly corroded. 
He could, by using the point of his penknife blade, 
move it back if it were pushed into the staple. 

In the general bustle that marked the last fifteen 
minutes of play, Thomas was able to slip unob¬ 
served through this door and close it behind him. 
He descended three steps and sat down to wait 
until the rooms should clear. Then he would 
venture out. 

When all sounds ceased, he pushed the door 
open until a thin vertical line of yellow light shone 
through. Two spectacled Chinese clerks, bearing 
bags of coin and tally sheets from the various 
rooms, passed him. He heard their soft shoes 


KIDNAPED 


145 


pause at his father’s place; a few words of con¬ 
versation sounded indistinctly; then they pattered 
on their rounds. 

Was his father alone now? 

Slowly at first, then more boldly, Thomas 
pushed the door open wide enough to let his body 
slip from the dark steps. There was no sound. 
He advanced to the arch that led to the large room. 
There before him, lolling back in his comfortable 
chair and stretching his arms above his head, sat 
his father, relaxing after the steady work of the 
night. 

Thomas moved rapidly to his side and was 
almost seated in a chair before the unsuspecting 
man noticed and recognized him as an intruder. 
His right hand dropped, with the rapidity of a sea¬ 
gull swooping on a fish, to a little shelf below the 
table top, where his fingers closed on the handle of 
an unpolished revolver. 

He breathed easily, for he remembered that his 
money had been taken on to the office, and he saw 
that his visitor was merely a boy. But Thomas, 
who realized the meaning of that dropped hand, 
sat for a few seconds petrified with terror. 

He met the other’s cold stare steadily and ran 
his tongue over his dry lips. 

“ Let me talk with you a few moments,” he 
pleaded. 


146 


IN SINGAPORE 


A half-humorous glint showed in the man’s eyes. 
He uttered no refusal, although his shrugged shoul¬ 
ders said plainly, “ What’s the use? ” 

There was a moment’s silence. 

It was difficult for Thomas to phrase a suitable 
question, but he hit on one that might open a 
conversation. 

“ Didn’t you live in the United States once? ” 

“ They tell me I did.” 

“ Don’t you remember? ” Thomas leaned for¬ 
ward. 

Dubois shook his head. 

“ Or Guatemala? ” 

“ Maybe.” The conversation was getting away 
from Thomas’s plan. 

“ You must know whether you lived in the 
United States,” he insisted. 

Only a dark, sullen glance replied to this. The 
thoughts of Dubois had not for years been turned 
in this direction. 

“ Aren’t you American? ” The boy held tight 
to his purpose now. What could he do to revive 
in this man some glimmer of his past life? Was it 
a hopeless attempt? 

Dubois shrugged his shoulders again and spread 
out both hands—empty. He had relinquished the 
revolver. This visitor had no evil intentions. Any¬ 
how, the money was safely stowed away by now. 



KIDNAPED 


147 


If questioning was of no avail, perhaps telling 
him might set his mind working. 

Thomas spoke slowly and distinctly; winningly, 
as one speaks to a child. 

“You must remember you were married. You 
worked in Guatemala. You were a Mississippi 
River steamboat man;—stern-wheelers. Then you 
came to the Eastern coast. You lived with the 
Johnson family and went to sea from there.” 

He waited for the effect of these words. 

The man looked at him witheringly. 

“ What a lot you think you know about me! ” 
he sneered. “ Fairy tales! ” 

“But you must remember!” cried Thomas, 
rapidly losing his calm, in spite of all his plans. 

“ Never heard of all this nonsense/’ Dubois tried 
to put an end to the discussion. 

“ It will all come back to you! Only come away 
with me! Away from all this! Back to America 
with me! ” 

Dubois could not help smiling at this harmless 
but preposterous lunatic before him. Crazy as a 
loon, no doubt. Or likely a strong touch of the 
tropical sun. All his wits knocked away; that was 
plain. 

“Go away with you?” he repeated. “Now, 
that’s a splendid idea! And generous of you, too! ” 

The boy shook his head and waved his hands in 



148 


IN SINGAPORE 


protest against this treatment of him as a wilful 
child. The other kept up his bantering tone. 

“Wouldn’t that be nice! Go away from here! 
Give up my job. For what? What makes you 
want to be so good to me—a stranger? ” 

Goaded to desperation by the impassable wall 
between them, Thomas cast all his prearranged 
discretion to the winds. Springing to his feet he 
leaned over the upturned face of the unmoved man. 

“ Not good! But because it’s my duty and my 
right. Don’t you see that I’m the baby you left 
to be brought up by the Johnsons? ” 

Dubois chuckled aloud. There was something 
keenly ludicrous in the word “ baby ” applied to 
the serious young man opposite him. He was 
certainly no baby in his utterances and no baby in 
size, for he was taller than Dubois himself. 

That mocking chuckle exasperated Thomas. 

“ Don’t you see that I’m your son? ” 

This was no longer a matter of mild humor. It 
was becoming too serious to be carried any further. 
Let a demented young cub like this go about 
Singapore claiming to be his son, and there might 
be no end of trouble. 

Dubois slid the fingers of his left hand beneath 
the edge of the table until they sank into a round 
depression, where his nail felt the polished surface 
of an ivory button. 



KIDNAPED 149 

Thomas leaned closer. His appeal had turned 
to orders. 

“ You must come away with me! I don’t know 
what you’re doing with him, but you’ve got to 
break with that scoundrel Hanson! ” 

The moment the words had slipped from his lips, 
Thomas would have given anything to call them 
back. All tolerating humor and mild interest 
vanished from Dubois’s face as he involuntarily 
straightened himself against this sudden attack. 

Angry words sprang to his lips, but he was 
able—gamblers must develop self-control—by a 
sudden effort to keep them unsaid. But the con¬ 
temptuous look with which he measured this accus¬ 
ing stranger almost froze Thomas where he stood 
and choked in his throat any explanation he might 
try to make. 

What he had said was true. But he was foolish 
to have said it at that time. Every attempt he 
made to speak to his father, and every sentence he 
delivered when he found these rare opportunities, 
instead of leading him nearer, only thrust him 
farther away. Rack his brains as he would, he 
could think of nothing to cover up the disclosure 
he had made. Its consequences crowded upon him. 
If Dubois told Hanson, there would be another 
opponent to deal with, and a brutal and ruthless 


one. 




150 IN SINGAPORE 

Had Thomas’s ears been tuned to catch the 
sound, he might have heard a low buzz several 
rooms away. There was a soft patter of rapidly 
moving feet, and three coolies slipped into the 
astonished boy’s vision. 

The first to arrive rattled off a few syllables. 



A HUGE BROWN HAND CLOSED THOMAS’S HALF-OPEN MOUTH. 


Dubois shook his head and replied quietly with 
a few unintelligible Chinese exclamations. 

A huge brown hand closed Thomas’s half-open 
















KIDNAPED 


151 


mouth, and a powerful thumb and forefinger on 
his nose shut off his breath. His arms felt numb 
in the fists that seized them. The familiar rooms 
sped past his rolling eyes, but the door which 
opened for his exit was one he had never noticed 
before. Prevented from breathing, he was almost 
unconscious by this time; but the pressure was 
suddenly released and the air rushed into his ach¬ 
ing chest. Far behind him he heard a door close 
with a dull thud. High above him, between the 
quiet buildings, he could see the pale light of the 
Malay dawn. 

The next two days were days of exquisite tor¬ 
ture. 

Should he try to get into The Yellow Poppy 
again? Perhaps his ejection might not be so mild 
the next time. 

Should he apply to the police for aid? On what 
grounds? He marshaled all the facts and passed 
them in review with keen examination. They were 
of absolutely no help in presenting a case to the 
police. He had but a few suspicions with no 
foundations, a few things he had observed—for all 
of which he could himself furnish a dozen natural 
causes. The supposition that this man was his fa¬ 
ther—certain as he himself was—was, after all, 
merely a supposition. He had a strong yearning 
for the man—“ sentimental sympathy ” Inspector 






152 


IN SINGAPORE 


Allmayer would call it—and a hope that he could 
return to the United States the proud son of a 
loving father. Well, most orphan boys could raise 
such hopes. 

Inactivity was the worst suffering he could be 
forced to endure. He would make one more at¬ 
tempt; then he would consider the police. 

The idea that The Yellow Poppy might call in 
the police against him never entered his busy brain. 

As he approached the entrance to The Yellow 
Poppy shortly after midnight, he would have 
remarked, had any one asked him, that this portion 
of the way was no more lonely and deserted than 
any other section. He noted a jinricksha trundling 
slowly along towards him, bearing a sleepy pas¬ 
senger; a couple of coolies were chatting in high- 
pitched voices before a doorway; behind him a 
Chinese workman was carrying a rolled-up rug on 
his shoulders; decidedly, there were as many signs 
of city life here as one should expect at this time 
on a dark night. 

The only unnatural fact about all these persons 
was that, although they seemed total strangers, 
they were all moving parts in a well-timed plan 
that was rapidly converging to a crisis. The 
unsuspecting Thomas was, however, the only one 
of the players who had not been coached in the 
role he was to act.. 

9 


KIDNAPED 


153 


With a gesture one of the two conversing Chinese 
stepped back from his companion and stood 
directly in Thomas’s path. He paused just for a 
second to give the man time to move back to his 
former position or to give himself time to avoid 
jostling him by curving around his back. Those 
two men bulked large enough, in their bulging 
sleeves and flapping jackets, to conceal from chance 
lookers-on what the next two seconds contained. 

The companion of the rug man was not six inches 
from Thomas’s back. His viselike grip closed the 
boy’s mouth and snapped his head back so sharply 
that only his skilful ju-jutsu methods saved him 
from breaking the creaking neck. As Thomas went 
limp, the rug opened hospitably and enfolded him 
in its muffling and suffocating depths. 

The jinricksha had halted a yard away. No 
longer sleepy and lolling, but wide-awake and 
alert, the nimble Hanson sprang lightly to the 
ground. A second later the two chattering Chinese 
had pattered through the doorway behind them, 
Hanson and the other Chinese had passed each 
other without so much as a nod, the strolling 
American lad had vanished into the night air, and 
all that the trim policeman on the cross-street saw 
was a dull old rug man riding in a jinricksha with 
a long thick roll of his wares wedged into the 
narrow seat beside him. 


CHAPTER XII 


HEAT-LIGHTNING AND THUNDER 

The rocking motion of the speeding jinricksha 
occasionally jolted its muffled freight into a dim 
dream of semi-consciousness in which, for a second, 
he would assemble his thoughts and try to make 
them work properly. The regular rise and fall, the 
hum of the wheels, the rapid forward motion— 
these reached him as echoes from a far-off place 
and an earlier life. Just when he had succeeded 
in forming the thought, “ jinricksha,” his mind 
would swing away from the present and dart far 
back into the past, and he would satisfy himself 
by substituting the idea of “ boat ” for that of the 
land vehicle. Then all thoughts would blur; his 
will to think would subside; and only a mastering 
wish to be soothed to unfeeling sleep possessed him. 

It was in one of these periods of blankness that 
the roll of rug was unceremoniously transferred to 
another waiting conveyance. 

And this time the slightly aroused Thomas did 
master two connected thoughts. Perhaps the damp 
night air had reached his head and helped to pro¬ 
duce a quicker response of his tired brain to his 

154 


HEAT-LIGHTNING AND THUNDER 155 


forceful wish to piece his ideas and feelings together 
into some connected whole. His half-opened eyes 
still could see nothing but blackness; his dry lips 
were irritated by the fluffy threads from the 
stuff wound around him; but his skin felt some 
reviving power in the little air that reached his face. 

“ Breeze in the jinricksha,” he might have said 
if he could have formed words with his set mouth. 
Then the syllable “ sha ” repeated itself over and 
over again in his aching head like the sing-song 
refrain of an Oriental chant. How long he had 
been hearing it in his ears he did not know, but he 
was aware that the syllable had in its monotonous 
repetition become two, and that they were different 
from the first. Now the tune was changed also. 
It went more slowly; it was more soothing to his 
senses; it promised more rest to his tired body. 

Some change—he did not know or care what— 
was now making his senses sing, not “ sha-sha-sha- 
sha ” world without end, but “boat-wave; boat- 
wave; boat-wave.” And with those long-familiar 
sounds came a small degree of relief. 

What was being done to him now? The heavy 
rug was being unwound, and he spun over and 
over against the bottom of what he was certain 
was a boat. There! His head was free. He 
gulped the refreshing night air just once. The 
second time he opened his mouth to draw in a deep 



156 


IN SINGAPORE 


breath he was stifled by the pressure of a wad of 
fine silk between his teeth. The cords, instantly 
knotted behind his head, held it securely. So 
terrified was he by this fresh change in his condi¬ 
tion that he forgot to use his nose until the pressure 
within his chest made his eyes start from his head 
and his brain reel dizzily. He heaved with the 
agony of his suffering, for his wrists were bound 
tightly behind his back and his ankles were cut by 
thongs. 

Feeling more helpless now than in the depths 
of the rug, he lay on his side in the rounded bottom 
of the rowboat, moaning piteously to himself. 

Against the velvet darkness of the misty night 
he could discern two figures in the boat. Beyond 
his head was the oarsman, an habitual man of the 
water, for his strokes were easy and short, with 
the unexpected pull at the end which no landsman 
ever masters. Propelled with so little effort, the 
boat was moving rapidly and evenly through the 
ripples made by a breeze from the land. 

Thomas could see more plainly the hulk of the 
Chinaman crouched on the stern—the powerful 
rug-bearer. 

Until now Thomas had merely observed and 
registered what he saw. The intention of his 
captors might be any one of several plans. He 
shuddered as the possibility of being delivered to 


HEAT-LIGHTNING AND THUNDER 157 

a departing ship crossed his mind. Just above the 
gunwale he could see in the sky the glow of the 
lights in the city. Was he being taken beyond the 
harbor or were they skirting the mainland of the 
peninsula ? With a Chinese sitting guard over him, 
doubtless the oarsman was Chinese, too. Was he 
to be a prisoner on a native junk? 

But who had done this thing to him? Certainly 
not the owners of The Yellow Poppy. They 
would never dare to make way with an inoffensive 
visitor. He forced his mind back. What had 
caused the sudden change in his father’s demeanor? 
His mention of Hanson’s name? That must be 
it! It was the only explanation. 

With that conclusion he felt his situation all the 
more dangerous. Had the gamblers been respon¬ 
sible for his kidnaping, there could have been a 
direct inquiry made. Manchester knew that he 
went to The Yellow Poppy. Inspector Allmayer 
knew a little of his plans and all about his hopes. 
But who in all the Orient—except two persons on 
the far-away Portlander who would never hear of 
his fate—knew anything about his crossing the 
path of Hanson? Yet Hanson himself had never 
suspected that it was the purser’s insignificant 
assistant clerk—half employee, half passenger— 
who had avenged the stupid Scandinavian common 
sailor. 


158 


IN SINGAPORE 


There could be no help from the outside. He 
could depend on nothing, on no one. He was 
doomed to suffer a horrible imprisonment in a 
floating Chinese hulk, where no violence would 
have to be exerted on him to make him want to die. 
It would be better if these two men in the boat 
would end his torture by strangling him and toss¬ 
ing his body overboard. 

He had heard of the horrible refined methods of 
Oriental punishments. They could strangle and 
leave no marks; they could paralyze by pressure 
on main nerves. Let them do one of these things 
to him, and when his unbruised floating body 
should be found, testimony would establish the fact 
of his visits to The Yellow Poppy. No clew of 
the kidnaping would be uncovered. He would be 
pronounced a suicide, either because of gambling 
losses or because of recurring mental derange¬ 
ments. All his recent actions would give color to 
such an explanation, and if the conversations with 
Dubois were traced and his testimony on his 
behavior with him reported, he would be dubbed a 
rash young crank, and forgotten. 

Hopelessly plunged into the deepest dejection, 
he blinked unheedingly at the darkness of the 
night. He wept silently for just one glimpse of 
the daylight he would never behold again. This, 
then, was the unnoticed end of all his hopes, his 


HEAT-LIGHTNING AND THUNDER 159 


ambitions, his plans, his search. Better that no one 
should ever learn how terribly he had failed. He 
was resigned. 

It is a comfortable fact of life that no matter 
how willing a person may be to accept death, no 
healthy boy can keep his mind on such a decision 
for many minutes at a time. So Thomas—quite 
resigned as he was to his fate—could not help 
yearning for daylight once again, before everything 
should become totally black for him. Though his 
thoughts might be on his own misfortunes, his eyes 
were gazing into the misty darkness above. 



THE OARSMAN NOTICED THE CHANGE. 


The first time he saw a dim spread of heat- 
lightning he paid no attention to it. The second 
time he saw it, he let himself wonder whether here 
in Malaya lightning foretold a thunder shower. 




















160 


IN SINGAPORE 


The third time he saw the diffused glow he thought 
that the storm was traveling rapidly. With one 
ear separated from the water by the thin wooden 
strips of the boat, he thought he could just hear 
the dull, continuous rumble of the distant thunder. 

“ There’s the lightning again,” he told himself. 

A few seconds later the oarsman noticed the 
change in the weather. He held the oars poised 
in the air for the time of one stroke and spoke to 
his companion. This hulk of brawn squirmed 
around in his seat and watched. When he faced 
the rower he spoke rapidly, as if issuing an order. 
Both oars dipped silently into the lapping water, 
but Thomas, alert to the motions and sounds about 
him, felt a difference in the rowing. 

Their course was being changed. He was sure 
of that. No longer were the tugs at the oars of 
equal strength. 

Why should a distant storm make them choose 
a different direction? 

As the boat straightened on the new line, Thomas 
knew that another change had come over the rower. 
He was hurrying! The stroke was longer. It was 
finished more rapidly. The recovery was quicker. 
Every time the lightning flashed the boat was 
propelled through the water faster. It fairly 
leaped along the surface. 

Thomas listened. If the gag had not been in 


HEAT-LIGHTNING AND THUNDER 161 

his mouth he would have shouted. His ear could 
not deceive him. Distant thunder it might be to 
a landlubber, but he had grown up on a lively 
harbor. The sound, coming through the water, was 
more distinct to him than to the men above. It 
was no inoffensive forerunner of a shower. It was 
the throbbing of a high-speed motor launch! It 
had been coming towards this rowboat. And the 
lightning? That had been the flash of a powerful 
light that was piercing the misty darkness and 
spreading its glow about. Still too far away to 
spot the fleeing rowboat, it had disturbed its two 
occupants. Now, plainly, they were fleeing from 
its path, if not its pursuit. 

Thomas’s ankles were tied, but his legs were 
free. He could pound with them on the bottom of 
the boat, and that tattoo must attract attention. 
Not yet, though; it was too soon—the motor boat 
was too far away. Could he wait? This agony 
was worse than the agony of waiting for the death 
that he had felt, five minutes earlier, was to be his 
without doubt. 

Two persons may have the same thought at the 
same time. 

The giant in the stern seat brought both his felt- 
shod feet down on Thomas’s shins and ground his 
knees into the boy’s chest. The thwarts of the boat 
cut his legs cruelly from below. The weight of 



162 IN SINGAPORE 

the Chinaman pressed down upon his bones from 
above. 

Both sound and light faded. Thomas had lost 
consciousness. 

The Chinaman who was grinding his legs under 
his weight perceived this and announced it to the 
rower, who paused again in his stroke to listen to 
the direction from which the hum of the motor was 
coming. There was no certainty yet that this 
chance cruiser in the night was seeking them or 
pursuing them, though its presence in this part of 
the water was sufficient to make them wary. It 
might not be pursuing them at all, yet it was safer 
to turn aside and try to get closer to the port, 
where the dozens of other moving and tied craft 
would make it harder to pick them out and overtake 
them. 

The flash of light no longer looked like heat- 
lightning. It was piercing the mist in a long 
concentrated beam, and when it struck the water 
it made a wide oval in which not a floating twig 
could be lost. The stern watcher squirmed uncom¬ 
fortably at his post. The oarsman again changed 
his course and pulled furiously. The motor’s hum 
would cover the noise of their oars, but it would 
not be long now before that fiendish light could 
span the distance between the boats, and then- 

There was only one thing to do. A gesture from 



HEAT-LIGHTNING AND THUNDER 163 


the rower, an answering grunt from the Chinese 
rug-bearer, and both leaned over the quiet boy. 
His weight was so slight in their powerful grasp 
that they hardly had to rise from their seats. 
Twice they swung him between them; and then, 
with a heave they would not have risked had the 
motor boat been near enough to hear, they flung 
the limp body as far as they could. 

The lightened rowboat sped faster and faster 
towards the crowded waters of the port. 


CHAPTER XIII 


ALL CHINAMEN LOOK ALIKE 

Less than a minute after the rug man had hailed 
the approaching jinricksha, deposited his burden in 
a corner of the narrow seat, and wedged himself 
in beside it, a second jinricksha, this one empty, 
swung into the street, now clear of all pedestrians. 
The Malay runner looked aghast at the bare walks, 
for he had been certain that here he would be able 
to overtake and pass the figures he was following. 

There was nothing to do now but to try to pick 
up the clew at the next cross-street. There he 
slackened before the patrolling policeman. 

“ See man with heavy roll of rugs? ” the Malay 
called to him. 

“ Lost your fare, sonny,” the officer replied, 
ready for a chat to relieve the monotony of this 
too peaceful section of the city. Nothing had hap¬ 
pened that day to make him needed there. “ The 
fellow with the rugs picked up a ’sha just round 
the corner, stowed his bundle and his fat self in 
it, and passed here going twelve miles an hour.” 
Involuntarily he nodded in the direction the laden 
vehicle had gone, although he would have sworn 

164 


ALL CHINAMEN LOOK ALIKE 165 

that he gave this business-hunting laborer no clew. 
“Too bad you missed him, ,, he went on. “ He 
looked generous.” 

The undemonstrative Malay shrugged his shoul¬ 
ders. 

“ Hunt other passenger at big hotel,” he com¬ 
forted himself, and was off like a flash, while the 
officer wondered how he would like to go chasing 
all over the streets to pick up his living. 

When the liveried bell-boy announced to the 
Europeanized Chinese gentleman that his regular 
jinricksha was waiting below as he had ordered, the 
occupant of the room laid his English newspaper 
down quietly and thanked the boy calmly. 

“ I’ll be down at once,” was all he said. But 
his eyes glowed with anticipation of the news he 
was to hear, and he had to time himself deliberately 
lest he show too much haste in going out for a late 
night ride. 

He exchanged a few words with the runner as 
he took his seat and a few more after the runner 
had raised the shafts and had started away from 
the hotel entrance. 

Briefly the Malay recounted what he had seen 
and heard. 

“You saw the American boy? ” the rider asked 
incredulously. 

“ Yes. Hanson talked with Dubois yesterday. 


166 


IN SINGAPORE 


Got another square tin box. Maybe Dubois told 
Hanson something about this boy.” 

“ Possibly. Did you catch up with the ’ricksha? ” 

The Malay nodded as he trotted. 

“ Saw it far away. Going out of town to shore 
cove. Had roll in it.” 

“ Why didn’t you follow it and ’phone me? ” 

“ Saw Hanson take automobile and go in same 
direction, but not speak to man with rug in pass¬ 
ing.” 

“ Both going to their boat? ” 

“ Think so. Came to you then.” 

“ Stop at next open store. I’ll get some ciga¬ 
rettes. Hurry to launch. I’ll be there soon.” 

That was their whole conversation, but their sub¬ 
sequent actions fitted together like the movements 
of a clock. 

When the jinricksha pulled up at the curb, the 
passenger fumbled with his loose change in a per¬ 
fectly natural manner, and selected some coins. 
But the piece he actually deposited in the waiting 
Malay’s extended palm had no relation at all to 
the real price of the ride he had taken. Yet the 
servant was seemingly satisfied to be underpaid. 

While this peculiar patron strolled into the store, 
the Malay trotted towards the water-front, grad¬ 
ually increased his pace, and was soon speeding 
along briskly. No raised hand, no agitated cane, 


ALL CHINAMEN LOOK ALIKE 167 

no sharp whistle of any prospective fare caught 
his eye. On he sped, past all of them. 

“ Imitation of a Malay savage running amok,” 
remarked an American visitor to the girl he was 
escorting. “ Crazed with hashish, I suppose.” And 
he went on inventing a fanciful story that was tame 
compared to the actual events in which the fleet- 
footed Malay was playing an important part. 

He knew he must force his speed to its utmost, 
for in instances like this his chief never used slow 
means of transportation. If he slackened his pace, 
the high-powered automobile would reach the slip 
first, and he would “ lose face,” as the Orientals 
quaintly express it. 

Not a second to spare! He had just roused the 
sleeping boy in the launch when their Chinese chief 
moved rapidly from the throbbing car, across the 
quay, and down the stairs, and took his place at 
the steering wheel. 

“ Full speed ahead,” he signaled, and the purring 
engine forced the dark mahogany craft across 
the deep blue surface of the water. Threading 
its way among the small bobbing craft and the 
anchored ships, it soon turned sharply westward. 
Noting every light and taking into account every 
treacherous long spit of land and rising sand-bar, 
the men shaped its course to allow for the start 
which would permit Hanson and the rug-carrier 


168 


IN SINGAPORE 


to get their small rowboat out of its deep cove and 
into the open channel. If they could come upon 
it soon, say at the entrance to the cove, or better 
still, within it, so much to their advantage. Once 
outside, on the broad waters under this dark sky, 
the chances were one in a thousand that they would 
ever come up with it. 

Certain now that they were approaching the 
wide mouth of the cove or that they were almost 
abreast of it, the Malay, crouched beside the steers¬ 
man, began playing the narrow-beamed but power¬ 
ful light about the surface of the water. 

The little rowboat had covered more distance 
than its pursuers had estimated, however, and was 
well outside the lines of the cove. Only after the 
light had swept the surface of the water and the 
low-lying shores of the cove did the Chinese admit 
regretfully that they must take a long chance 
farther outside. He turned the launch directly 
away from the land and it was then that the star¬ 
ing boy in the bottom of the rowboat had seen the 
first flashes of “ heat-lightning.” 

There was so great a distance between the two 
boats that all the little circles made by the dipping 
oars had been wiped out by the fitful ripples. The 
oarsman was also right in his belief that as long 
as the motor hummed, no ear on the launch could 
detect the direction or distance of his rowing. 


ALL CHINAMEN LOOK ALIKE 169 


Backwards and forwards, to the right and to 
the left the Malay directed the oval of brilliance, 
scanning its field with eager and keen eyes. But 
he saw nothing! At least nothing that signified 
anything to him and his companion. Swollen 
fruit rinds, broken boards from cases of goods, half- 
submerged tin cans, a length of bamboo stalk, a 
decaying fish, tufts of sodden seaweed, a small 
cracked rudder, browned banana skins, then a long 
waving line of yellow scum, white spume in delicate 
tracery, and matted refuse showed where the fresh 
current cut along the shallows, where only the ris¬ 
ing and falling tide makes any changes. 

The ripples became longer and stronger swells, 
marked by no drifting waste of any sort. Oar 
whirls would be even less visible here. Added to 
the motor’s noise was the louder splash of waves 
against the shoulders of the launch and the swish 
of the spray thrown out by her descending bow. 

The sweep of the patch of light was wider now. 

“Not much chance now,” the steering Chinese 
said. 

“ No. Their boat could be going anywhere out 
here,” the Malay agreed. 

Then the pupils of his dark eyes suddenly shone. 
He dropped the light on the seat beside him. 

“ I heard a splash,” he cried. “ Stop the 
engine! ” 


170 


IN SINGAPORE 


A few gasps, and the motor was dead. The 
Malay clambered far out on the bow of the launch 
and lay flat on his stomach, peering into the dark¬ 
ness before him. The Chinese leaned far over the 
gunwale, for he, too, thought that he had caught 
the sound of a single splash. The launch floated 
idly, rising and falling with the swell. The vast 
silence of the night was broken only by the lapping 
of the waters alongside the boat. 

The three occupants of the launch hardly 
breathed, yet they heard nothing. The Chinese 
straightened, placed his right hand on the steering 
wheel, and had already turned to give an order to 
the boy at attention above the motor, when the 
Malay’s quick ear—six feet nearer the surface than 
that of the Chinese—caught a faint sound from the 
darkness. 

“Wait!” he called back as quietly as he could. 
“ A little to the right. But far away. What is 
it?” 

With his attention thus directed the Chinese 
leaned far out and strained his ears. After an 
interval he thought he made out a peculiar “ swish ” 
of the waters that was not caused by the waves 
and was not at all the noise of water against a 
stationary boat. 

The Malay was back at his post beside him. 

“ Something moving,” was all he said. 




ALL CHINAMEN LOOK ALIKE 171 

“ Fish? ” asked the Chinese. 

“ Don’t know—yet.” 

“ Ahead—slow,” the steering Chinese ordered. 

In the pauses between the chugs of the motor 
and the revolutions of the propeller, they thought 
they could distinguish the regular swish they had 
heard at first. When it seemed to cease they 
stopped the engine until they could pick up its 
position again. At times, its regular recurrence 
would cease altogether and they would fear that 
they had lost it; then it would begin again. The 
light showed them nothing yet. They were play¬ 
ing it against a deceptive white mist that, despite 
its delicate appearance, tantalizingly curtained 
their search. 

Stopping, drifting, starting, zigzagging, hesitat¬ 
ing, groping, the launch pursued its uncertain 
course under the dark night. 

******** 

The Thomas whose body made a short curve 
through the night air was an unconscious form. 
The Thomas whose body struck the water with a 
resounding splash was a shivering boy. The 
Thomas whose limp figure sank from sight was a 
sputtering youth waking from a horrible night¬ 
mare. The Thomas who, as the wetness chilled his 
body, as the salty taste soaked through and around 


172 


IN SINGAPORE 


the gag in his mouth, as the choking sensation went 
up his nose and down his throat, as the sting 
opened his eyes wide, began to kick for his life, 
was the Thomas who, from his childhood, had 
always felt perfectly comfortable in the water. 

Reared on the harbor, he had never been a swift 
or showy swimmer, but he had endurance greater 
than that of most of his swimming mates, and he 
could swim longer under water than any of them. 
Yet, with all that power and confidence in himself, 
he did not, at the present moment, wish to stay 
under water any longer than he must. 

He felt the tightening cords around his ankles, 
shrunk by the moisture, cut more cruelly than be¬ 
fore into his skin. Yet he could bend his knees, 
though his arms ached frightfully behind his body. 
He kicked again and again until his nose rose into 
the welcome air, and he sneezed the water from his 
lungs and throat. 

Except that every stroke cut into his flesh, he 
felt he could keep himself afloat for hours by 
swimming on his back. If he could keep his head 
clear and not get excited; if he could refrain from 
forcing his stroke and get some notion of the 
direction of the shore; then he might be able to 
consider this adventure no more hazardous than a 
stunt in his old familiar harbor waters. 

There was that glow of heat-lightning again. 


ALL CHINAMEN LOOK ALIKE 173 

Had that come from the land before? It was 
worth trying for. He pushed his head in that 
direction. He moved slowly, timing the move¬ 
ments of his fettered legs to get the maximum of 
distance with the minimum of effort. His breath 
was of more importance to him than anything else. 

Then, after a twinge of pain caused by the 
shrunken cords, he thought: “ If they shrink, why 
won’t this soggy silk wad in my mouth? ” 

Why not? It was worth trying. He rolled his 
head over and soaked the gag. Again and again 
he repeated this, chewing on it, pressing it tighter 
with his jaws between dips. 

It was tighter and smaller! He was sure of it. 
A tickling shred of it plastered itself against his 
chin. He slashed it about in the water and noted 
gleefully that he had dislodged more of it from 
between his teeth. Still more might be loosened. 
He swished his head about; he chewed; he pulled 
his mouth along just below the surface; he could 
feel shreds and ends of the silk flapping in his eyes 
and against his cheeks. There must be a long 
streamer extending through the water as he swam. 
With jerks that threatened to sever his head from 
his spinal column he swished rapidly from side to 
side. Air rushed through his mouth and down his 
windpipe for the first time. There! It was gone! 
A mouthful of salt water felt welcome. In his joy 


174 


IN SINGAPORE 


he tilted his head back and squirted it high above 
him, as every boy learns to do in his early water 
days when he indulges in such sports as “ playing 
whale.” 

Absorbed in this difficult feat Thomas had ceased 
to pay any attention to the heat-lightning. Now, 
after a few lusty strokes, he noticed it playing 
about the water. Diffused as it was when he saw 
it again, there was no mistaking it now. 

A boat! 



THE GLOW FELL ABOUT HIM. 


But before he could call, the glow fell about him. 
He gave an energetic propulsion with his legs and 
then listened to the exclamations that proved he 
had been seen. There was no need to waste his 
breath now. He could content himself with re¬ 
maining afloat. 

How tired he was! He made no effort to help 





















ALL CHINAMEN LOOK ALIKE 175 

himself as the two men dragged him from the water 
and laid him in the bottom of the launch. He 
merely felt relieved at the support beneath his back 
and at the freedom to move his arms. 

They drifted until he felt able to tell his story 
briefly. 

No; he could not say who had rowed the boat. 
Yes, they had evidently feared pursuit and had 
turned when they heard the boat or saw the light. 
Back towards the city, if the city was over there. 
He had only had a fleeting look at the rug man. 

“ Could you recognize him if you saw him 
again f 

The Chinese leaned towards him. Thomas felt so 
comfortable now, in spite of his dripping garments, 
that he replied jovially: 

“ I don’t know. All Chinamen look alike to 
me.” 

Then he caught his breath. How would this 
Oriental take such a piece of Western pertness? 
He glanced quickly at the man’s face. He nodded 
and the eyes twinkled humorously, more humor¬ 
ously than Thomas suspected. 

Then, in a tone which signified more than 
Thomas guessed and which he understood only 
later, the Chinese remarked as he turned back to 
his steering wheel: 

“ I know they do.” 


CHAPTER XIV 


REFINED TORTURE 

So elated was Thomas over his escape from the 
terrible fate he had anticipated from his kidnaping 
that he failed to ask any questions in his turn. He 
expressed his deep gratitude for being pulled out 
of the water, but with a boy’s understandable pride 
in his own prowess he asked anxiously: 

“Was I headed for the shore when you heard 
me splashing with my legs? ” 

“ You were,” the Chinese replied approvingly. 

“ I’m glad I was,” Thomas went on enthusiasti¬ 
cally. “ I always thought I had a good sense of 
direction.” 

“ If we hadn’t come along, I’m afraid you would 
have needed it.” 

“ I certainly would. Ouch! I feel stiff.” 

He settled himself comfortably and noticed with 
satisfaction that his clothes were drying rapidly. 
After all, he would not be such a frightful-looking 
spectacle as he entered his lodging. Anyway, at 
this early morning hour there would probably be 
no one to see him except the sleepy door-boy. 

He even dozed a little on the way back to the 

176 


REFINED TORTURE 


177 


slip. His spell of drowsiness was on him still, for he 
displayed no astonishment when the Malay boat 
hand stepped to his waiting chair and became a 
regular jinricksha owner. Before he was awake 
to events, Thomas was escorted to its comfortable 
seat and was asked: 

“ Where to? ” 

It was his answer to that inquiry that furnished 
his address to the listening Chinese who, from all 
appearances, was still busy with the launch. 

Only when he awoke several hours later and lay 
pleasantly in bed watching the flickering of the 
mosquito netting about him did he realize that he 
knew absolutely nothing about his rescuers except 
their nationalities. The Malay puzzled him as 
much as anything. 

“ He was on that boat—and wasn’t she a beauty? 
Evidently he belonged there. Yet, as soon as we 
got ashore, there was his jinricksha. That’s odd. 
And he’s a regular worker at it, for he knew the 
city and ran me home. Oh, I see;—the Chinese 
owner’s private man. That’s it! But who’s the 
Chinaman? ” 

Since no explanations of these puzzles occurred 
to his wandering reflections he let them pass. 

“ But why were they cruising out there at that 
time of night? Pleasure? Why the light? Those 
fellows who had me were afraid of them, all right! 



178 


IN SINGAPORE 


Well, they would be of any boat that happened to 
see their load. I must have looked funny tied up 
like a kicking pig. Asked me if I’d recognize the 
Chink again, in case I informed the police, I sup¬ 
pose. I think I’d better not. It might complicate 
the other thing I’m trying to do.” 

His thoughts wandered to the perfect poise and 
calm control of the Chinese owner of that powerful 
launch. 

“ He knew his way about,” Thomas pronounced. 

Then a biting doubt entered his mind. 

“ Did I thank him enough for picking me up? 
These Orientals are sticklers for politeness and 
courtesy, and I may not have shown all I felt. He 
pumped a lot of information out of me, but I don’t 
even know his name! ” 

That worried him. 

“ Oh, well,” he tried to console himself, “ it’s 
nothing in his life. Probably he thinks I’m some 
ship-boy or water-front loafer. He may be hard¬ 
ened to fishing worthless water rats from slimy 
graves.” 

His mind would not be set at rest. 

“ I don’t even know his name. I did mess that up 
terribly. I might find the launch along the quays 
and be able to tell him all I should have said last 
night.” 

To decide on such a course of action was, for 


REFINED TORTURE 


179 


Thomas, the signal to begin to act. Half an hour 
later he was pacing the piers and slips, scanning 
the hundreds of craft, some of which he dismissed 
with a valuing glance, others of which he lingered 
over lovingly, his fingers itching to sketch their 
general lines, his investigating mind luring him to 
examine their unusual details. 

“ If I can remember some of these novelties, 
won’t I surprise the draftsmen back home, 
though? ” he chuckled gleefully. 

Often he thought he had spied the launch he 
sought, but a young British official in clean white 
ducks would board her with the air of ownership, 
or a radical difference in arrangement of the deck 
and wheel would show that this was not the launch 
he had ridden in. 

“ Why didn’t I get her name? ” He could have 
kicked himself for his stupidity—he, a studying 
marine designer, who had never glanced at her 
bow or stern. 

“ Couldn’t see them,” he tried to silence his re¬ 
proaches. 

Hours of trudging and clambering about in the 
fierce sun convinced him that his search was use¬ 
less, so he made his weary way home, too tired now 
to fix in his mind any of those clever devices he 
should put on paper at once if he was going to 
astonish his fellow workers back home. 



180 


IN SINGAPORE 


“ Message for you.” The clerk stopped him as 
he entered. He passed over his scribbled memo¬ 
randum. 

Thomas could make out the name of a hotel 
clearly enough, but the other entry might have been 
the signboard of a chop suey restaurant. 

“ Who left it? ” 

“ A Malay. The man who wants to see you is 
Mr. Wan. Know him? ” 

“Not unless-” 

“ Owns a boat you rode in last night.” 

“ What-! ” Thomas cut off his sudden ex¬ 

clamation and covered his tenseness with another 
question. “ Did the messenger have a jinricksha? ” 

“ Yes.” 

“ It’s all right, then,” said Thomas, relieved. “ I 
know what it’s about.” 

Thomas frankly stared at every detail of the out¬ 
landish costume of the subdued hotel boy who es¬ 
corted him to the door of Mr. Wan’s room, while 
the native seemed almost unconscious of the vis¬ 
itor’s existence. But Thomas would have been 
astounded could he have known how much more 
the unnoticing native knew about him and all his 
clothes than he with all his open-eyed gaze knew 
about the other. In all his experiences the Western 
lad never became fully aware of this valuable qual¬ 
ity in Easterners. His disregard of it repeatedly 




REFINED TORTURE 181 

brought him into awkward situations and threw 
him into false lines of behavior. 

Mr. Wan, in a long, somber dressing-gown, 
looked too languid and too lazy to be the owner and 
pilot of a high-powered motor launch. Every 
movement he made, every word he spoke added to 
the impression of his having a long, long time in 
which to do the nothing that occupied him. 

“ I’m sorry I wasn’t in when your message 
came,” Thomas began. “ I wanted to thank you 
again for all you did last night. I must have 
seemed careless at the time. I suppose I was some¬ 
what done up and tired and thoughtless. It wor¬ 
ried me to-day that I didn’t even ask your name. I 
didn’t know how to find you.” 

The older man smiled. 

“ So you went hunting among the boats to find 
the launch and learn my name in that way.” 

Thomas stared in amazement at the Oriental’s 
report of his actions. 

“ How did you know that? ” 

“ Simplest thing in the world, my boy. Exactly 
what every young man would do. But I miscalcu¬ 
lated your sleep. I thought you needed more rest 
than you did.” 

“ So far I know only half your name, Mr. Wan.” 

“ It’s an easy one to get:—Wan Tu.” 

“One Two?” repeated Thomas, thinking that 


182 IN SINGAPORE 

Mr. Wan might have learned his speech from an 
Irishman. 

“No; not One Two, but Wan Tu,” the other 
spoke clearly. 

“ I have it now. Don’t you want mine? ” 

The other paused with a twinkle in his eyes and 
a faint smile on his lips. 

“ I have it.” 

“ But I never told it to you! ” 

“ No. But my messenger had to describe you 
to the clerk, and he told it.” 

The simple explanation of the mystery made 
them both laugh. 

“ Why do you suppose those Chinese snatched 
you last night? ” 

“ That’s what I want to know. Do they shang¬ 
hai many fellows here for native boats? That’s all 
I could think of.” 

“ Might be. And you’re as good as the next 
fellow for working on a ship. They’d hardly tackle 
a Westerner for that unless there were some par¬ 
ticular reason.” 

They thought this over for a short time. 

“ Any one here who might want to do you a bad 
turn? ” 

Thomas shook his head. 

“ Any one here who might be an enemy, or want 
to get square with you for anything? ” 


REFINED TORTURE 183 

“ Only one. But he doesn’t know I did anything 
to him. At least I think he doesn’t know I did it.” 

The Chinese compressed his lips for a second. 

“ Did what? ” 

“ Bumped Hanson into the water with a bale.” 

“ Hanson? Who’s he? ” 

Rapidly Thomas told of the glorious revenge he 
had achieved with the aid of the Portlander's 
donkey engine. 

“ He might want to get even,” he concluded. 

“ But you say he doesn’t know you propelled 
him through space.” 

“ He can’t know that.” 

“ Any other way he could have been stirred up 
against you? ” 

Mr. Wan waited patiently. 

Thomas had determined to say nothing about his 
other contact. The more concealed he kept his real 
purpose in staying in Singapore the better were his 
chances of doing what he intended. Who was this 
foreigner, anyhow? Generously, however, Thomas 
pushed this question aside. The man had saved 
him from a long exhausting swim, if not from 
something much more serious. He had been 
thoughtful enough to send his man for him to-day. 
He was a kind, thoughtful, interesting old soul. 
There was no reason for withholding anything 
from him. 


184 


IN SINGAPORE 


“ Perhaps my father,” he began lamely. 

The other covered his start of astonishment by 
rearranging the books and papers on the low table 
at his elbow. 

“ Your father—here?” he spoke slowly to help 
the embarrassed son. 

“ I warned my father against Hanson. He may 
have told Hanson to look out for me,” Thomas 
blurted out his upsetting fear. It was the only 
explanation he had made to himself that satisfac¬ 
torily accounted for the events of the past twenty- 
four hours. 

44 Of course—same name,” Mr. Wan had mur¬ 
mured under his breath, but Thomas had not heard 
him. His tongue unloosed, the lonely boy, relieved 
at having found a listener more sympathetic than 
matter-of-fact Inspector Allmayer, poured out his 
story from the time of his landing in Calcutta. Mr. 
Wan let him talk; and Thomas, who had missed 
such understanding listeners as Bill Johnson, or 
the whole Johnson establishment, for that matter, 
talked more freely than he had been able to talk 
for months. He had felt bottled up. At times he 
felt that he would burst with all he had in him to 
say. As Bill Johnson would have described it, 
he was now “ getting it off his chest ” with a 
vengeance. 

He heaved a great sigh of relief when he had 




REFINED TORTURE 


185 


finished and sat calmly watching his listener. 
Again the latter moved the articles on the table 
slightly. 

“ It looks like Hanson,” the man declared. 

“ Yes. And that’s exactly what I can’t under¬ 
stand. Allowing for all the relations that spring 
up on ships or in these distant places, I still can’t 
see why anything I say about Hanson should touch 
my father—or the reverse.” 

“You say you saw a package transferred from 
one to the other? ” Mr. Wan was starting on a 
new train of thought. 

“ Yes, but what’s important about that? ” 

“We of the East,” the other explained gently, 
“ always look for the important in the smallest de¬ 
tail. Your threat to your father may be a very 
important matter to Hanson.” 

“ I don’t see-” 

“ Perhaps not. I know the familiar saying of 
your countrymen that ‘ good things come in small 
packages.’ Did it ever occur to you that the small 
package handed over to Hanson might have been 
worth thousands of your dollars? ” 

“ You’re not accusing my father of theft! ” the 
boy exclaimed hotly. 

“ Not at all. But you know, don’t you, that 
some businesses can be perfectly legitimate in one 
country yet illegal in another? ” 




186 IN SINGAPORE 

Thomas had no idea what his host was driving 
at, but he listened politely. 

“ I should not, perhaps, tell you this, since I 
know nothing certain about it, but did it never 
strike you that Hanson might be engaged in violat¬ 
ing your country’s laws? ” 



“ How could he? ” Thomas was beyond his 
depth now. “ Boatswain on a freighter? ’Way 
out here in Singapore? ” 

“ Ever hear of any one smuggling opium into the 
United States? ” Mr. Wan asked more sharply. 
For a moment Thomas was stunned. He railed 










REFINED TORTURE 


187 


inwardly at his stupidity. Yet he could justify 
himself by a simple explanation:—he had always 
associated the opium business with the country of 
China itself. Why, just before he had sailed from 
home he had read in the newspapers that the wife 
of a Chinese official had been in trouble with the 
customs department because of a charge of opium 
smuggling. There flashed back into his memory 
a statement that one person’s baggage might con¬ 
ceal opium in cans to the value of hundreds of thou¬ 
sands of dollars. The thought made him dizzy. 
His work on freighters in the harbor had brought 
him close to the realities of importing commod¬ 
ities into his country; they were dirty, laborious, 
ordinary details of daily toil. The little he had 
heard or read of opium smoking had sounded like 
a far-away, romantic story; almost poetic, to his 
imagination. That was the word:—poetic. But 
it could not be poetic way down here at the south¬ 
ern tip of Asia; not about his father; and not while 
it involved such a heavy, unromantic person as 
Hanson! 

“ You can’t mean my father’s a criminal! ” 

The boy was indignant. 

“ Far from it. Out here the business may be 
carried on—under conditions.” 

“ Why do they use him, then? ” 

“ I don’t know. My guess is that he is close to 


188 


IN SINGAPORE 


the source of supply; maybe the same people own 
the opium supply and The Yellow Poppy. Why 
not? It’s what you Americans call big business. 
Your father may be able to get it at a low price. 
If he can supply Hanson and others, they make all 
the larger profit. But remember, all this is mere 
conjecture. ,, 

If Thomas had not been so intent on the views 
Mr. Wan was presenting he would not have failed 
to wonder at two things—the clear explanation 
the man was giving him and his knowledge of cur¬ 
rent American speech. He would have wondered 
more at the little he had learned about him. Never 
a word about himself escaped Mr. Wan’s lips. 
Never for a second did he let Thomas feel like 
asking any questions about him and his possible 
occupation. All he knew of him was what he had 
been able to see. 

He owned and could operate his own power boat. 
He had been cruising about in her last night. He 
lived in a good but quiet hotel. He had a Malay 
servant, or could command the services of one. He 
spoke several languages. He was keenly interested 
in Thomas’s story;—but that could have been easily 
explained as the natural curiosity of the man who 
had conferred a service. He was an idle man, 
doubtless, for he seemed to have no regular occu¬ 
pation. 



REFINED TORTURE 


189 


The lonely boy appealed to this clear-thinking 
-nan, who knew both East and West so well. 

“ How can I get my father away from here? ” 

“ How? That’s the question.” 

“ Shall I go to the police again—to Inspector 
Allmayer? ” 

“ Let us see,” Mr. Wan began thoughtfully. 
“ The British police have a high regard for the 
personal rights of the individual, sometimes more 
regard than your own police, I believe.” He smiled 
to rob the remark of its harsh criticism. “ They 
hesitate to interfere in merely personal matters. 
They can’t arrest Dubois, can they? ” 

“ Certainly not,” flared the son. 

“ Well, there you are.” 

“ But he’s my father.” 

“ Even that is not an offense to be punished by 
arrest. Can you prove that he is? ” 

Thomas began to despair again. The other 
pressed him harder. 

“ Can you even prove to Dubois yourself that he 
is your father? Can you make him believe it? 
Admit it? ” 

The boy was suffering agonies at the cruel truths 
the other was announcing in his calm, even tone. 
He felt sick at his stomach, but he forced his feel¬ 
ings aside, to listen more intently. The sweat on 
his forehead and on the palms of his hands was 


190 


IN SINGAPORE 


cold moisture not caused by the heat, for the room 
was fresh and pleasant. 

“ Why should the police interfere? Dubois is 
living a perfectly harmless quiet life here; earning 
his own way; disturbing no one; quite able to take 
care of himself. What do you purpose to do? Drag 
out of an agreeable situation a man to whom you 
mean nothing, who does not wish to go with you. 
For what? What could he do in your land? He 
can’t be a croupier, can he? Or a common sailor 
again? What can you prove? And the police are 
careful about demanding proofs before they act.” 

“ Inspector Allmayer told me-” 

“ I know he told you a great deal. But did he 
do anything? ” 

For a blind second Thomas felt that he could 
hate this man who so coolly and calmly said things 
that tortured him more than anything Hanson had 
ever done to him. And the brute of a boatswain 
had not acted with such devilish mental cruelty as 
this man was displaying. Every statement, every 
question cut him deeper and more painfully than 
any twist of a cord or thrust of a gag had done. 

This deliberate torturer might be one of Han¬ 
son’s acquaintances merely pumping him to see how 
much he knew and what he intended to do. A sec¬ 
ond’s reflection would have shown Thomas the 
unreasonableness of this mistaken view, but he was 



REFINED TORTURE 


191 


in no mood for reflection now. He was goaded to 
desperation. Driven to bay, helpless, alone, weak 
in himself, turning and writhing to find a way out 
of his difficulties, he yet could hold firm to two 
consuming intentions. 

It might be the last cry of the defeated and 
cornered boy, but he could, at least, give himself 
the satisfaction of having shut off that stream of 
tormenting phrases from across the table. 

He pushed back his chair and sprang to face Mr. 
Wan. The latter heard the back of the chair thud 
against the floor-matting. 

“ Stop it! ” the boy commanded; and astonish¬ 
ingly the older man stopped. “ Tell all those things 
to yourself—to anybody you please,” Thomas 
added recklessly, “ but let me tell you something. 
I’m going to get my father away from all this—in 
spite of what you call his ‘ agreeable situation.’ 
That’s the first thing I want to tell you. Here’s 
the second. I’ll never rest until I tell Hanson 
straight in the face that I knocked him overboard 
from the Portlander. That’s all! ” 

His knees trembled and he wanted to sit down. 
Where was his chair? Never mind, he could stand 
long enough to see where his hat was lying, then 
he would leave that room without another word. 
But his roaming eyes could not find his hat, search 
as he might. 


192 


IN SINGAPORE 


“ Fine! That’s the way to talk! I’m glad to hear 
you!” 

Thomas could hardly believe his ears. He groped 
for the seat of his chair, set it upon its four legs, 
and sank upon it in wonderment. 

He had not been mistaken in what he had heard. 
The cold eyes across the low table were glowing 
with approval. 

Mr. Wan waited until the youth could regain 
some composure. 

“ I hoped you’d answer in that manner.” 

“ Can you help me? ” Thomas spoke respectfully. 

Mr. Wan leaned forward. 


CHAPTER XV 


THE SMUGGLING RING AROUND THE WORLD 

What became of the neatly wrapped square 
packages, looking like tin boxes of biscuits, that 
passed so mysteriously from Dubois to Hanson? 
Did they continue to accumulate in the latter’s 
hotel room until he had a large enough supply for 
shipment to the United States? 

Competition for the trade in opium was so keen 
in the Malay Peninsula that every person involved 
in the highly lucrative business of importation in 
China, the largest market in the world, tried to 
keep all the details of his activities known to as few 
persons as possible. Some of the owners of The 
Yellow Poppy made as much from silent partner¬ 
ships in the opium export trade as in their open and 
known holdings in well regulated gambling. They 
bought the drug in huge quantities and kept their 
costs very low. It was this attractive cheapness 
that gave Hanson his opportunity of reaping huge 
profits. 

He had gained the confidence of the weakened 
Dubois soon after his discharge from the hospital. 
When Dubois had gained employment in The Yel- 

193 


194 


IN SINGAPORE 


low Poppy, Hanson had patronized his table as 
often as he could and frequently sent his acquaint¬ 
ances there. In the almost blank mind of the frail 
seaman there had grown a feeling of gratitude to 
the big man, so able to take care of himself physi¬ 
cally in any encounter or tight place. 

Every white worker in the Orient looks forward 
to retiring in his later years upon his savings or 
pension, to enjoy his old age in quiet and safety. 
The Government employees can expect this with 
absolute certainty. It is part of the inducement 
by which colonization goes on among the yellow 
and brown races of the earth. Likewise, the great 
trading organizations and transportation com¬ 
panies provide the same kind of lure for continuous 
residence far from home by scheme's of deferred 
bonuses and small but assured pensions. Western 
workers in the East are influenced by this practice 
of having some money for “ a rainy day.” Dubois, 
knowing of it, seeing its operation all about him, 
began to adopt it as the ambitious aim of his life 
and work. But Chinese gambling houses do not 
provide pensions for old age. When one is no 
longer capable of accurate counting and rapid 
manipulation at the table, of keeping a cool head 
while all about are at fever heat; above all, if 
one is not able to restrain himself from gambling 
against the heavy odds that all owners of gambling 


THE SMUGGLING RING 


195 


houses know exist against the mere occasional 
player, out he goes. 

As long as one is capable and reliable, the 
Oriental employer will pay him—not much, but 
promptly. Charity or gratitude he seldom feels 
for his dependents. There were still some traces 
of the ambitious American in the nature of Dubois, 
and these, coupled with the assured program of the 
Western workers in the East, made him yearn for 
a gradually increasing pile of money, as repre¬ 
sented by a swelling bank account. 

He had thought of investing in fruit plantation 
shares. Some men had made money; but he knew 
of savings swept away by crop failures as rapidly 
as by the turn of a card in The Yellow Poppy. He 
was next tempted to buy part of a native sampan, 
but his old sailor nature was shaken by the crazy 
hulks and the ragged sails he observed along the 
water-fronts. He envied the owners of the little 
villas and bungalows that were situated away from 
the water on the cooler hills. But buying one of 
those, or even a plot of ground on which to build 
one later, with the heavy mortgage rate of interest 
he would have to pay, seemed like pledging himself 
to a life of toil with no certainty of owning any¬ 
thing at the end. 

Then came the feeling inquiry of Hanson. Did 
Dubois know of the high prices paid for opium in 


196 


IN SINGAPORE 


the United States? Only vaguely. Did he know 
any of the producers or large dealers in the island? 
Could he get a steady but small quantity, not large 
enough to attract any wonder or arouse any sus¬ 
picion, but just enough to keep some ten or a dozen 
men occupied in carrying it across the oceans in 
both directions and arranging for its safe delivery 
to distributors in the far-away United States? 

By this time Dubois had lived long enough in 
the Federated Malay States to accept the drug 
trade as a natural thing. The last traces of Amer¬ 
ican influence had vanished from his recollection. 
He had been submerged in a totally new life, a 
mode of living that a few years before he would 
have regarded with repulsion, if not with disgust. 

Hanson was not over-generous in his offer of 
money returns. He would guarantee something 
when the drug was turned over to him, but the 
difficulties of landing the barred packages in the 
United States were so great that Dubois must 
share in their risks. But if their attempts at smug¬ 
gling were successful, he would profit greatly. He 
had agreed to the plan. A few of the cases, sold 
to him as a favor by the manager of the packing 
department, who also owned a few shares of stock 
in The Yellow Poppy, were stolen or lost in ship¬ 
ment or were seized by the customs officials at 
American ports. But several were adroitly shipped 


THE SMUGGLING RING 


197 


past the net that had been placed to catch them, 
and months later Dubois received his share of the 
profits. As years passed, and Hanson and his con¬ 
federates improved their devices and varied their 
schemes, the moneys transferred to Dubois in¬ 
creased in frequency and amount. He came to 
think only of two operations in the transaction:— 
his own two of handing over the small boxes to 
Hanson or his agent and of later depositing his 
money in the bank. To what happened between 
those beginning and concluding actions he no 
longer gave any thought. Had any one accused 
him of engaging in an illegal trade he would have 
indignantly denied the charge. Had any one 
threatened to sever or interfere in his relations with 
Hanson, he would have struck back, as a man 
would against a pickpocket, in defense of what he 
regarded his rightful property. 

It had taken years for the arrangements to be 
perfected. With the years Dubois had come to be 
considered the most important cog in the intricate 
machinery. Hanson did the crude thinking, the 
shrewd scheming of the man who plots with a sin¬ 
gle overmastering purpose. Others more agile and 
ingenious carried out the final steps. But the un¬ 
interrupted movement of the packages from Sing¬ 
apore eastward to the ports along the Pacific and 
westward to the ports along the Atlantic depended 


198 


IN SINGAPORE 


on that quiet little man who could supply the valu¬ 
able product regularly at so low a price, that 
straightforward fellow who was so unpracticed in 
the devious ways of profitable business that he 
never thought of holding his customers up by forc¬ 
ing them to higher and higher prices. It was so 
silly that it was laughable. 

About once a year Hanson, who might have re¬ 
mained in the United States, made a trip to Singa¬ 
pore. Sometimes he traveled in comfort as a pay¬ 
ing passenger. But more frequently he went as a 
sailor, for this had two prime advantages;—he thus 
attracted less attention, and he had opportunities 
of studying and finding new methods for smug¬ 
gling and picking up among crews new persons 
for carrying out those methods. 

Size, weight, and form of the package were su¬ 
premely important. It was to experiment with 
changes in these that Hanson had come this time 
to Singapore. 

The metal biscuit box handed over by Dubois 
was air-tight and water-tight, not too heavy for 
easy carrying under the arm, as Thomas had ob¬ 
served. It must, however, be adroitly covered and 
disguised. The bulky boatswain, whom Thomas 
would never have accused of overcleanliness, was 
very fastidious about his bathroom in his Singapore 
hotel. He used it much more often than ordinary 



THE SMUGGLING RING 


199 


visitors do in that country of heat and sunshine and 
light-colored clothes. 

He tinkered a great deal with tools, too, of which 
he was so proud and careful that whenever he left 
his room he locked all of them in a small, stout 
trunk. He evidently did nothing constructive with 
them, for no one saw about his living quarters any 
objects he had made or repaired. 

When he entered his room with a paper-wrapped 
bundle he turned on his bath immediately. He 
could not silence the bubbling of the running water. 
While the tub was filling, he would strip the brown 
paper from his parcel and carefully examine every 
edge, every corner, every joint of the metal to de¬ 
tect any possible leaks. If there was the slightest 
possible chance for water to seep in, he would draw 
from his strong box of tools a spirit lamp, solder, 
and an iron, and roughly but securely close the 
leak. 

Then the box would be gently lowered into the 
water in the bathtub, to see if it would float. If 
it floated in this fresh water it would, of course, 
all the more surely float in salt water. Thin, flex¬ 
ible wrapping of cork would then be bound around 
the box until the proper degree of buoyancy was 
obtained. Next was added a thick wrapper of 
waterproof oilcloth, and finally the bundle was 
tightly wedged into a wooden box. 


200 


IN SINGAPORE 


Hanson’s care of his complete tool outfit would 
make one believe that this finished wooden package 
was a marvel of neat carpentry and clean, fresh 
wood. Not at all. There were bungling joints, 
broken boards—water-soaked, discolored, marred, 
and marked—rotten strips, sides that had been 
staved in; or, perhaps, an old box, fished up from 
the floating refuse of a cove, would cover the valu¬ 
able contents. 

Had you been rowing about, and had you passed 
one of these carefully prepared precious boxes 
floating on the waves, you would have ignored it 
or poked it with your oar to see if it would return 
to the surface to float again. And you might have 
added a disgusted remark about the way ships 
dirtied the harbor by flinging their waste boxes 
overboard. 

Long-winded seamen, smoky machinists and 
greasy oilers from the engine room, shabby third- 
class passengers, Filipino galley helpers, and even 
petty officers on freighters, whose only uniform was 
a battered blue cap, would drop into Hanson’s 
room for long yarns and repeated emptyings of 
the stout bottles. When they left they would, per¬ 
haps, be carrying under one elbow one of those 
battered cases, soon to start on its venturous voy¬ 
age to the land of high prices. 

Sometimes the visitor departed empty-handed. 



THE SMUGGLING RING 


201 


A day or so afterwards, about an hour before the 
man’s ship sailed, the hearty Hanson would pay a 
farewell call to his friend. And exactly as the fare¬ 
well delegations of friends of sailing passengers in 
the luxurious cabins of the great liners always de¬ 
livered parting gifts, so bluff Hanson would carry 
a bulging roll, wrapped in a frayed sweater and se¬ 
cured by a stringy belt, which he would toss to the 
departing ship’s worker as a remembrance. Dur¬ 
ing the voyage the sweater—or whatever was the 
outside garment—might be worn, but the inner 
contents of the bundle never appeared in public. 

From the alley and jail peddlers of the drug in 
the interior cities came the demand for more and 
always more of the health-wrecking substance. 
Government authorities deplored its spreading use, 
its terrible effects in all classes of society; even 
international treaties were made to curb its manu¬ 
facture and sale. Yet always the packages—large 
and small—evaded the officials and trickled into 
the country. Cable messages reached Hanson re¬ 
porting that a certain number of packages had 
failed of delivery. A few had been seized. Some 
others, when the risk of landing had been too great 
to take, were returned in the care of men who were 
often ignorant of the contents. Then he must work 
out some other scheme for starting them on their 
way again. 





202 IN SINGAPORE 

Most of the coded messages announced success¬ 
ful delivery and urged that more and more be for¬ 
warded. If only one-tenth of the quantity dis¬ 
patched could be sure of ultimate sale in small doses 



YET ALWAYS THE PACKAGES EVADED THE OFFICIALS. 


at fabulous prices, then every ship entering an 
American port should bear at least one package 
worth several thousand dollars. 

That w r as the aim of Hanson and all his asso¬ 
ciates. Let some be seized, as it must be; but they 
would send so much that there would be dozens 
of chances for evasion. 












THE SMUGGLING RING 


203 


Dubois could supply the best quality at the low¬ 
est price. He was no haggling Oriental, willing 
to “ double cross ” one for a mere hundred dollars 
in gold. One could depend on his word. He 
wanted security as much as any one. He was a 
good man to do business with, but he must be urged 
to get more—and more—and more. 

Then Hanson would himself have to take his 
departure to split the profits with his partners. But 
if Dubois could guarantee a steady supply, other 
trusted employees could follow in enough guises 
and pretended occupations to make any detection 
difficult. And the beauty of the entire business 
was that only in its last stage—in the United States 
itself—could it be attacked. Every time he 
thought of that, Hanson felt like cheering. 





CHAPTER XVI 


DOWN THE DARK CORRIDOR 

Thomas had often—in school and outside—re¬ 
gretted that he was not one of the brilliant, showy 
persons of life. Never envious of the triumphs 
which his mates won by their brilliance, he never¬ 
theless always experienced a slight pang that he 
could not do the “ show-off stuff,” as he described it 
to Bill Johnson. Every triumph of some one he 
knew acted upon him in the same manner; it 
spurred him to do whatever he attempted as well as 
he could, even though there might be for him no 
flags flung to the breeze, no speeches from plat¬ 
forms, no certificates of merit, and no medals of 
award. 

Several minor satisfactions had been his, how¬ 
ever. In school he had nosed out a couple of swim¬ 
mers who made brilliant flashes but who had no 
staying powers. In the water, from the time he 
had learned to swim as a tiny shaver, he had seen 
other boys do the fancy diving, the high jumping, 
the acrobatics in the air. He had listened to the 
delighted “ Ah’s ” and “ Oh’s ” of girls and women 
at a perfect swan dive by a gutter snipe who had 

204 




DOWN THE DARK CORRIDOR 205 

all the makings of a corner loafer in him; and he 
had gone on, day after day, quietly forcing him¬ 
self to stay longer under water or to swim dis¬ 
tances which no one else in his water-front crowd 
would attempt. 

Other fellows might insist on a summer job on 
the excursion boat, where they could collect tickets, 
see the crowds, and wear a cap that carried the 
steamer’s name on it in yellow letters. Thomas 
was more attracted by the higher wages he made 
in his humdrum attendance on the candy and re¬ 
freshment counter. He never thought heroically 
about what he was best able and most liked to do. 
He knew what he needed, saw the best way to get 
it, and then, day after day, did it. 

He became aware, the first summer he worked 
in the drawing-room of a boat-building concern, 
that the department heads must have gone through 
all the monotonous tracing of plans that the be¬ 
ginners so often cursed. He discovered that the 
man who was in charge of the room could do better 
than any apprentice in it the kind of work the 
subordinate repeated day after day. 

Being a “ plugger ” rather than a “ plunger,” 
being steady, industrious, and above all persistent, 
he ballasted his actions in the present instance. He 
knew he was not level-headed—he could have 
kicked himself all over Singapore for his outburst 


206 IN SINGAPORE 

before his father—but he did know that he could 
“ hang on.” The chance to talk with Mr. Wan 
had braced him up more than he could tell that 
quaint Oriental. What that tolerant listener had 
related to him in return almost made him gasp. 

That Westernized Easterner had told him only 
scraps, at that. Had Thomas known all the in¬ 
tricacies, all the criminalities, all the desperateness 
of the plots of which he had learned only a little, he 
would probably have given up in despair at once 
and started for home. 

His ignorance was the greatest factor of his 
strength, next to his intense yearning for his father. 
That yearning he felt must be satisfied. He had 
a blind faith that it could be, a faith that persevered 
in the face of all realities and disappointments, a 
faith that could arouse him from the depths of his 
despair to confront Mr. Wan and blurt out his 
purpose. 

About an hour before closing time at The Yellow 
Poppy, Thomas, with his best coat smartly pressed 
and his shoes newly polished, walked past the door 
with the sliding panel in the company of three 
Chinese, two of whom were plainly garbed in dark 
colors, while the third, a person of some conse¬ 
quence, no doubt, was most luxuriously costumed. 
Once inside, the members of the quartette sep¬ 
arated, for though they would not be conspicuous 



DOWN THE DARK CORRIDOR 207 

in the crowded rooms, there was no reason for at¬ 
tracting any attention if they could avoid it. 

Beneath his swagger, Thomas was fitted for more 
than the mere killing of time. The three other 
men must have prepared themselves in a similar 
manner, for the next day their three beautiful outer 
garments were found, one bundled in a compact 
wad under a table, one stuffed behind a screen, and 
the third, soiled and ripped to shreds, along the 
base of the wall in a dark passage. They might 
have been the best of clews for the police, yet the 
police never saw them. The Oriental mind has an 
idea that its own business should remain its own 
business. “ Take the white man’s money whenever 
you can, but reserve your quarrels and losses for 
your own settling.” Yet rumors reached the au¬ 
thorities, and Inspector Allmayer grinned a little 
as he thought how much he knew; but as the little 
affair was not brought to his attention “ officially,” 
he did not “ officially ” do any investigating or 
“ officially ” make any report. He chuckled to 
himself and hoped that the end would be as aus¬ 
picious as the beginning. 

Thomas and his companions had considered every 
possible move that they might have to make, once 
they were inside The Yellow Poppy and the 
patrons were beginning to leave the rooms. He 
and all the others had observed all the spaces, the 


208 


IN SINGAPORE 


angles, the corners, the passages, the doors, the 
entrances, and the exits. The chief difficulties were 
two:—remaining unnoticed after the place was 
emptied of its throngs and finding a place of safe 
concealment. This second—the more important— 
Thomas thought he had provided in the single door 
near the room in which his father worked. What 
was beyond it? He forced himself not to dwell on 
that. 

There would be time for that later. 

With all the careful planning, when the attempt 
to carry their scheme out began, he became so in¬ 
tent on his own part that he completely forgot the 
others. 

As on the previous evening, when Thomas had 
pleaded unavailingly with his father, Dubois had 
waited for the collection of the moneys at his table, 
and then had leisurely stretched himself back in his 
chair and run his fingers through his hair. Satis¬ 
fied with his night’s work, he was idly relaxing both 
his body and his mind. With feet sprawled widely 
before him, and hands clasped behind his head, he 
sat gazing up at the ceiling, avoiding any sight of 
the paraphernalia that held him bound to the table 
for so many hours—hours that to him were only 
drudgery. 

This was the moment. From the other rooms 
there came the sound of clattering tables and 


DOWN THE DARK CORRIDOR 209 

chairs; some chattering of voices reached this far; 
but no approach of any person was heard. 

The silent Malay crept to within a yard of the 
seated man before the latter had any hint of his 
presence. Then the quickness of native skill was 
pitted against unreasoning self-preservation. One 
hand covered Dubois’s mouth to reduce his cry to 
a gurgling swallow; the other pressed his head so 
far back that his neck seemed about to snap. When 
his hands went down close to his body, a thin cord 
bound them instantly to his sides. The silk hand¬ 
kerchief stuffed between his teeth silenced him. So 
adroitly were these moves made that Dubois had 
been lifted from his chair and was being borne 
towards the open door where Thomas waited before 
Wan Tu had fully entered the room to see if all 
was progressing as they had planned. 

Wan Tu darted to the open door behind the 
Malay and the Chinese who were half carrying, 
half forcing the dazed Dubois down the few steps. 
As long as he dared, Wan held the door ajar that 
they might see by the light of the room. Thomas, 
waiting breathlessly at the bottom of the four shal¬ 
low steps, saw the glint of two dull revolver barrels 
and the bright flash of a knife held by the Malay 
against his father’s back. Then they stood still, as 
a couple of jabbering cleaners entered the room 
they had just left. 


210 


IN SINGAPORE 


From the sounds they could visualize the move¬ 
ments of the cleaners. One picked up the over¬ 
turned chair and placed it on its four legs. To 
their infinite relief its position occasioned no com¬ 
ment from him. He was used to overturned chairs 
and disordered furniture. The other was pottering 
along the passageway. His felt-covered feet ap¬ 
proached the door behind which Wan Tu stood 
tense with uncertainty. On the other side the 
servant gave the door a thud with his fist. The 
four listeners drew a relieved breath. At any rate 
he was not going to open it! Then one of the four 
gasped;—it was Thomas. He heard the sharp click 
of the spring lock as it snapped into the socket. 

That door was locked against them. 

All five turned away from the door and faced 
the blackness of the passage. In the darkness a 
smile of relief passed over the features of Dubois, 
but it had vanished when a small flash light revealed 
to the company the long narrow corridor stretch¬ 
ing before them. 

Thomas knew that Orientals move silently. He 
had provided his own feet with soft-soled shoes, 
but as he moved slowly forward through the short 
flashes of light and the long periods of blackness 
he thought he and Dubois were making thunderous 
noises. Stretching out one hand in one of the 
lighted seconds, he felt the walls:—heavy-paneled 



DOWN THE DARK CORRIDOR 211 

planks, if he was any judge. Leading where? He 
would have to wait to learn that. 

How long was this corridor? Would it never 
end? His toes refused to bear his weight any 
farther. He tried stepping naturally. To his 
delight he discovered that his regular footfalls made 
less noise. At least his cramped bones did not 
creak and crack every time he touched the flooring. 

The gleam of light struck a wall across the 
passage and was turned off at once. They moved 
forward more slowly in a compact mass. Did that 
wall close the passage, bottling them up like rats 
in a drain pipe, or did the corridor turn sharply 
to one side? They covered the distance and found, 
by feeling, that it continued at a right angle to 
the left, following the wall of The Yellow Poppy 
building. Not until they had listened carefully, 
straining their ears to catch any sound from this 
new direction, did they risk the first beam of light. 
They saw nothing; so on they moved. 

Wan Tu, who was leading with the light, gave 
a little grunt of satisfaction and took two rapid 
steps. But suddenly he controlled himself and 
moved on slowly and steadily as before. What he 
had noticed all of them soon became aware of, for 
he stopped them with outstretched arms at the top 
of a short flight of steps leading down to a lower 
platform, where the corridor ended at a heavy door. 



Thomas’s heart beat high. There was nothing 
more to do now but to slip back the large bolts 
and step out into the morning air; or, if there 


212 IN SINGAPORE 

Thomas caught a glimpse of his father’s face. 
What did that quiet smile mean? Was anything 
happening to his mind again? 

The others stood at the top of the stairs, while 
Wan Tu tiptoed down and flashed the light about 
the surface of the ponderous door. There were 
two heavy crossbars and a modern lock. From 
their station they could see and hear him turn the 
handle of the lock. It moved. So did the catch 
that drew back the metal bolt of the lock. 


WAN TU FLASHED THE LIGHT ABOUT. 









DOWN THE DARK CORRIDOR 213 

should be watchers beyond the entrance, to make 
a dash at them and fight their way past them. He 
could hear the bolts grating along their staples, 
little by little; so slowly did they move that the 
periods of silence were longer than the movements 
made by Wan Tu’s gripping fingers. 

The silly smile had returned to Dubois’s face, 
but no one noticed him now. Every eye, in the 
few flashes of light, was riveted on the hands of 
the Chinese against the dark door. He dropped 
his arm to rest it. It had taken so long that his 
muscles were tired. 

There was no light now, as he closed his fingers 
around the knob. In the darkness they could hear 
him pull towards him. The door did not even 
creak. Could it be possible that it opened out¬ 
ward? He pressed the knob. The door stuck. 
He added the strength of his elbow, with still no 
effect upon the door. He added his shoulder, but 
the door had likely not been used in a long time, 
so tight did it stick. They could hear it creak 
under the weight of Wan Tu’s shoulder, but their 
ears were not gladdened by that sudden crack a 
sticking door gives when it releases its grip on the 
jamb and begins to open. Now they knew that 
Wan Tu had his knee against the solid mass. They 
could hear him strain. Then all sounds ceased and 
he came swiftly up the steps. 


214 


IN SINGAPORE 


“ Locked tight on the other side! ” he announced, 
to confirm their fears. 

No one answered. There was only a smothered 
chuckle from the bound and gagged Dubois, which 
was his way of saying to them: 

“I could have told you so! What are you 
going to do now? ” 


CHAPTER XVII 


TOM WATCHES A GAME 

There was no light, but the four conspirators, 
caught in their own trap, turned their eyes about 
in the darkness, trying to find in one another some 
solution of this difficulty. 

Mr. Wan, followed by the Malay and their 
Chinese companion, moved back a short distance 
along the corridor. There the three stopped to 
confer. A few syllables reached Thomas’s ears, but 
the language was Malay or Chinese so he paid no 
attention to it, although he could feel in the dark¬ 
ness that every nerve of Dubois was strained 
towards the talking trio. As they returned, 
Thomas wondered whether their council had de¬ 
cided on some plan of strategy or upon open war 
to obtain their release. How long would they have 
to wait in this state of inactive suspense? 

It was amazing that with only a few flashes of 
the light and a few short phrases these five men 
could communicate so easily with one another. A 
movement towards the descending steps was the 
first change, and Tom soon found himself com¬ 
fortable, seated in the group surrounding Dubois, 
who also seemed perfectly at ease and only slightly 

215 


216 


IN SINGAPORE 


concerned over what might happen to him. He 
blinked unsteadily as the light was played on his 
face; but as he became accustomed to it his eyes 
grew steady and his countenance unafraid. He 
peered keenly at all he could see of his captors, 
whose faces w r ere mostly in shadow, without betray¬ 
ing any emotion, until he caught sight of Thomas. 
Then he started; but he instantly repressed his 
movement and tried to erase from his face the look 
of puzzled anger that had flushed it. 

The men he could account for, but what was this 
boy doing here after having blurted out his fan¬ 
tastic story about being his son? He must surely 
be crazy. 

Mr. Wan was speaking persuasively. 

“ Look here, Dubois. We’re three—four, I 
mean—to your one. You may think we’re trapped, 
but you know enough of how such matters are 
arranged to believe that I left word that I should 
get back by a certain time. Now, if I don’t, The 
Yellow Poppy will hear of it.” 

He paused, and Dubois nodded understandingly. 

“ No harm is meant for you.” 

Dubois smiled tantalizingly. 

“ Only we need you for something,” Mr. Wan 
went on politely. “ This passage is not hard to 
find if searchers get into The Yellow Poppy. And 
they can.” 



TOM WATCHES A GAME 217 

References to The Yellow Poppy made the only 
impression on Dubois; and Wan knew that what 
Oriental owners of gambling houses hate and fear 
most is trouble with Occidental authorities and 
scandals of raids and shootings. Their whole aim 
is to operate quietly and peaceably, undisturbed by 
any notice from the police. 

“ No one there cares what becomes of you,” Wan 
declared. 

Thomas could have cried out in protest at such 
a cold-blooded remark. 

“ The sooner you help us, and the sooner we get 
this little job done, the better for all of us, and 
the sooner you get back to your work” 

It was this thought that softened the defiant 
look in Dubois’s face. If he brought scandalous 
notice on The Yellow Poppy, and were discharged, 
where else could he get work? All the other 
establishments would know of his infraction of the 
Oriental code of “ no interference, attention strictly 
to our own business.” 

“ So the quieter you are, the better.” 

Dubois nodded. 

“ Just a few questions.” 

Wan nodded to the Chinaman, who quickly 
slipped the gag from the fettered man’s mouth, 
though he remained so close that he could throttle 
at the first sound any call or loud speech. 


218 


IN SINGAPORE 

Dubois passed his moist tongue over his dry lips. 

All heads were inclined towards the questioner 
and the prisoner. 

“ We know we can’t make you answer,” Wan 
admitted, “ but there’s no reason for your being 
uncomfortable all the time. We may have to sit 
here for hours.” 



WE MAY HAVE TO SIT HERE FOR HOURS.” 


That was pleasant news! Tom’s left leg, drawn 
up under him, had gone to sleep some minutes 
earlier, but he became conscious of the numbness 
only when he heard this sentence. Hours of this! 
His other leg began to tingle in sympathy and his 
back ached. Let happen what would; if Dubois 
were to be made comfortable, Thomas was not 
going to suffer any longer. With noises that 
boomed like rumbling thunder in that silent dark¬ 
ness he shifted his position. 









TOM WATCHES A GAME 219 

It was a general signal for rearranging them¬ 
selves. Only the squatting Malay, doubled over 
like a bronze statue of some strange Eastern deity, 
remained motionless, his mild eyes alert for every 
movement of Dubois. 

Thomas wanted to ask how long they were likely 
to stay there, but wisely he refrained. He com¬ 
forted himself with the thought that if he were not 
needed he could crawl up to the top step, drop back 
on the level floor, and sleep the hours away. The 
next remark electrified him into wide-awake atten¬ 
tion. 

“ We know this corridor is used.” 

Dubois raised his eyebrows in interrogation. 

“ It’s so clean,” Wan explained. “ But why 
should I be telling you things you know perfectly 
well? ” he went on, with a shade of rebuke in his 
voice at having been drawn into unnecessary talk. 

The eyes of Dubois had a mocking glint of 
delight at having led so skilful a campaigner into 
a waste of words and breath. 

Wan Tu began to have a higher regard for the 
wits of the inoffensive figure huddled on the steps 
among them. He might be much more Oriental in 
his actions and thoughts than they had assumed. 
One must be wary, always, and never take anything 
for granted. Thomas, who observed this delicate 
duel of wits and who should have been unreservedly 


220 IN SINGAPORE 

on the side of Wan Tu, mentally scored “ One ” 
for Dubois. 

The diplomat tactfully turned to another topic. 

“ When are the rooms aired for the next ses¬ 
sion? ” he asked Dubois. 

There was no reason for not answering this; 
besides, Dubois was sure that Wan knew already. 
So he replied slowly: 

“ At seven every evening, three hours before 
opening.” 

Were they going to stay hidden in that dark • 
passage all day until then? Almost fifteen hours! 
Thomas’s sigh was unnoticed. 

“ Of course,” Wan explained easily, “ we can 
wait until then.” He watched Dubois narrowly for 
some sign by which he might betray the informa¬ 
tion that the heavy door below them would be 
opened before that time. Dubois might have 
been one of Wan’s own uncommunicative race 
for all that his countenance showed, so the suave 
tones went on: “ Break through the door into 
your room and fight our way out, if we have to 
fight.” 

Still Dubois made no answer. 

“ Or we might not have to fight. If we just 
return you, who will ask any questions? ” 

Thomas had to cover his mouth to keep himself 
from shouting, “No, no! Don’t take him back 


TOM WATCHES A GAME 221 

there! You promised me!” He squirmed in 
torment at his helplessness. 

Dubois curled his lip. 

“ Why return me? You just said The Yellow 
Poppy won’t care.” 

“ Score two! ” said Thomas to himself, delighted, 
in spite of unforeseen consequences, at such cool¬ 
ness and clear-sightedness in the man he was anx¬ 
ious to keep in their possession. 

Thomas was enjoying this game hugely. It 
reminded him of some football matches he had seen 
between teams who used more brain than brawn. 
Whenever one scheme of attack had been foiled the 
resourceful quarterback brought out another. Mr. 
Wan met every check to his plans with the per¬ 
fectly even temper of a good sport. 

“ What a great boxer he would make,” Thomas 
said to himself, before he recalled that the Chinese 
think little of muscular prowess if it can be replaced 
by mental adroitness. No, Mr. Wan would not 
make a good boxer; he would hate to receive the 
pounding blows, and Thomas believed he would 
hate all the more the necessity of striking another 
man. Led away by his boyish reflections, he was 
recalled to the reality of the situation by Mr. Wan’s 
next observation, delivered with as little emphasis 
as would be a comment on the state of the weather. 

“ That door makes a short cut to the little herb 


222 IN SINGAPORE 

and seed shop in the Street of the Jasmine, doesn’t 
it?” 

Dubois caught himself, but too late. The glint 
that darted from his eyes, the momentary catch of 
his breath, the slight tremor that rippled under his 
muscles;—all these were plainly visible to the ap¬ 
parently unseeing glance of Wan Tu and to the 
fixed stare of the Malay, who had withdrawn 
farther and farther from the rays of the flashlight 
into the deeper darkness. 

Thomas did not comprehend the full importance 
of this question and was still waiting for his father’s 
crushing reply, for which he had already awarded 
him another point, when he was astonished to dis¬ 
cover that the game was over. 

Wan Tu clicked off the light, and the puzzled 
youth felt cheated. For some reason, the last play 
had been too quick for his eyes. The field was 
confused by the surging spectators. Worst of all, 
he could not make out the score, but he had an 
uneasy fear that it was “ four to two ” against his 
father. 

The silent wait began. 


CHAPTER XVIII 


THE HERB DEALER GIVES DIRECTIONS 

Hanson paced up and down the busy pavement, 
among the bustling business people and the stroll¬ 
ing loiterers, opposite the largest hotel on the wide 
boulevard along the water-front. He felt out of 
place rubbing elbows with the wealth and fashion 
displayed in the puffing speed-boats, the slowly 
passing private house-boats, the luxurious steam 
yachts from all parts of the globe, and, on land, 
the long low purring European automobiles—the 
last word in high-priced swank and swagger. 

He had tried to dress himself to look like a 
frequenter of such a gay scene, but his costume was 
not quite right and his manners exhibited an in¬ 
feriority feeling that he would never have admitted 
to himself. The other men’s striped, cream-colored 
flannels fitted them jauntily; their dazzling, white 
duck trousers, if they were not perfectly creased 
down the front and rear of the leg, had plainly 
been wrinkled by lolling about in boats. Their 
sunburn was the result of their deliberate willing¬ 
ness to be tanned. They were perfectly at ease 
with the gayly dressed and smiling young women 
and girls who arrived, chatted, and moved away. 

223 



224 


IN SINGAPORE 


But Hanson’s white ducks looked soiled already. 
Their creases had been made by the lumbering 
motions of his fat legs. Their material looked 
cheap. His tightly buttoned blue coat was too 
pinched around the waist and too bulging in the 
sleeves. It had not been made to fit him. His 
cap was too new to look like a yachtsman’s head- 
gear. And his face was not fashionably browned; 
it was reddened to a broiled lobster’s flaming color 
by long and careless exposure to all kinds of 
weather. 

Other men knew how to kill time easily and 
gracefully. He was not comfortable unless he was 
doing something, and lounging up and down this 
stretch of the most frequented boulevard of Singa¬ 
pore was not Hanson’s idea of doing something. 
The meeting here had been arranged by Dubois. 
Ever since “ that boy ” had spoken so threaten¬ 
ingly, Dubois had insisted that they vary their 
meeting places, that they scatter them more widely 
about the city. When Hanson had objected to the 
crowds of passers-by, Dubois had reminded him 
that the place to be unnoticed is where many per¬ 
sons are about; moving pedestrians or loitering 
idlers do not consider unusual the chance conversa¬ 
tions that are bound to make impressions in quiet 
neighborhoods, where a stranger is marked by every 
inhabitant. Packages were continually being 


THE DEALER’S DIRECTIONS 225 

passed from hand to hand here—to the occupants 
of the boats, to departing travelers, to stewards of 
steamers, to motorists. And, as Hanson had to 
go out to a “ round-the-world ” liner to deliver the 
three packages, this was the place to start. 

Well, then, he had done—against his own better 
judgment—what Dubois had proposed. Then 
what had become of that fellow? Five minutes 
past the time, and no sign of him! He took another 
turn across the street, to stand and sweep his eyes 
over the vehicles moving in both directions; but he 
saw no automobile, no jinricksha with the figure 
of the tardy Dubois. Could the fellow have 
deliberately disappointed him? He pushed that 
thought aside; their working arrangements had 
been going on for too many years and too smoothly 
for any hitch to occur in them to-day. Dubois 
might not be very active or energetic, but he was 
reliable. He never flew high or plunged deeply; 
he moved quietly and cautiously; but he finally 
“ got there.” 

He could see the hull of the liner with whose 
engine-room mess steward he was to have a little 
“ going-away palaver.” He knew he could reach 
her side in twenty minutes, and he had been told 
at her agent’s office that she would not sail until 
some four hours from then; but he was anxious to 
take himself away from this jabbering stream of 





226 


IN SINGAPORE 


preoccupied persons. He would feel more like 
himself in a small motor boat on the water, sizing 
up the lines of the steamer as he neared her. But 
hang it all! Dubois had said he would come, and 
he should be there with the goods! 

He set thirty minutes as the limit of his patience. 
Then he would begin to stir things up for himself. 
How could he get there most quickly? An auto¬ 
mobile could cover the ground better in the central 
section of the city, but it could only crawl through 
the obstructing mass of native dwellers in the 
Chinese section. He would use a jinricksha there. 

Hailing a taxi he bundled himself in, wrecking 
for all time the pretense of his fine clothes by 
drawing his fat legs back under him, thus produc¬ 
ing scores of horizontal wrinkles across his stiff 
duck trousers, which he neglected to pull up to 
prevent bagging at the knees; and he rumpled the 
shoulders and front of his coat by hunching forward 
to urge the Filipino chauffeur to speed. He could 
no do more than prod him in the back with his hand, 
but he could reach the jinricksha runner with the 
toe of his shoe, so the chair bowled along at amaz¬ 
ing rapidity, until it drew up at the dark little shop 
in Jasmine Street. 

Hanson, the boatswain, a tyrant on a tramp 
steamer, might make men stand about by ranting 
and railing at them, but all his noise failed to im- 


THE DEALER’S DIRECTIONS 227 


press or to hurry the shriveled Chinese herb dealer 
who gazed serenely at his gestures, while still 
managing to keep careful watch of the wares dis¬ 
played on his bench. 

“ Yes,” he agreed, when Hanson had quieted 
somewhat. “ Mr. Dubois is always dependable. 
He has never failed in years. What he promises, 
he does. As the cat follows the mouse, his actions 
follow his words.” 



CUT OUT THE PROVERBS ! ” 


“ Cut out the proverbs! ” 

The venerable old man shrugged. 

“ Has the stuff arrived this morning? ” 

“ No. That also is strange. Doubtless Mr. 
Dubois could not get the order to the warehouse 
early this morning. Never has it taken more than 













228 IN SINGAPORE 

three hours for the runner to hand me the measure 
from which I prepare the smaller packages.” 

“ Cutting out some for yourself, too, I’ll bet.” 

“ You weigh all that goes to you,” the dealer 
reminded him truthfully. “ There’s nothing to say 
about worn-out scales.” 

This was a deep thrust, for once in such a dis¬ 
cussion Hanson had admitted that he used scales 
with an old spring, from which he could make bills 
for higher weights than those recorded by Dubois 
and his agent. 

Hanson tried to hasten the transaction. 

“No more palaver. Do me up three boxes.” 

The herb seller stroked his features with his 
well-kept fingers. 

“ Pardon. My business is a commi^ion arrange¬ 
ment with Mr. Dubois only. I do not sell—the 
stuff, as you call it.” 

“ Of course you sell it! This herb and seed affair 
is only a blind. You know you supply any Chinese 
who wants it. So come on, shell out! ” 

“ Since you know my business so well, you 
should know that I do not sell.” 

“ Not to me, you mean.” 

“ What I should answer, I do not know. And 
what I know, I should not answer.” 

“Curses on your fine speeches! There’s a 
‘ round-the-globe ’ steamer out there sailing in four 



THE DEALER’S DIRECTIONS 229 

hours. Sell me the three cases; give me three hours 
to pack them in my room; and I’ll still get them 
on board an hour before she leaves. Four chances 
in the States:—Los Angeles, Colon, Panama, and 
New York. I can’t afford to miss this boat.” 

“ Interesting shipping news, but irrelevant.” 

“ I hope one of your big words chokes you! ” 
stormed Hanson. “ What I want to know is where 
I can find some of the stuff—or get hold of 
Dubois.” 

The old man poured a rustling stream of dried 
watermelon seeds from a large sack into a tinted 
glass jar. Next he arranged a row of dried roots 
that looked disturbingly like little petrified mon¬ 
keys. 

Hanson—inwardly cursing the calm of the 
Chinese—cooled down. He lowered his voice to a 
hoarse whisper that could have been heard in the 
street had there been any one pausing at the open 
door to listen. 

“ If you won’t give me any of it, at least give 
me some information. Don’t try to look ignorant,” 
he advised as the protesting shopkeeper began to 
spread out his hands, palms up. “ I know that 
when Dubois is going to meet me, he stays on in 
The Yellow Poppy after closing time before he 
comes here and then on to me. I know he sends 
the first order to the warehouse from there. I 


230 


IN SINGAPORE 


know—and here’s where you come in—that the 
only way to get into The Yellow Poppy is through 
that long corridor with the sharp turn in it that 
opens on a back street far away from the regular 
entrance. I know Dubois uses that corridor and 
has a key to it. I’ve been through it myself—in 
the dark. Now, all I want you to tell me is 
this:—just where is that entrance? I’ve got to find 
it quick! You don’t have to say anything now. 
I’ll do all the rest. All this I’m saying is right. 
You know that? ” 

“ Quite right, as you yourself say.” 

“ Where’s the entrance to that corridor? ” 

The proprietor of the herb shop pointed. 

“ The fifth street over there parallel to this one. 
Walk along the left side, away from the water. 
Look for these four shops, side by side:—first, a 
narrow eating-place, open all night, not many cus¬ 
tomers in the daytime; next, a little pet store; 
third, a dealer in kites and fireworks; fourth, a 
carver’s workshop, open to the street. Directly 
opposite this last is the door of the passage to The 
Yellow Poppy. It looks like the entrance to the 
large warehouse. But it isn’t.” 

“ Good for you! I remember the all-night eat 
shop, but not the other stores. You’re a pretty 
good sort. May we do business together for a long 
time!” 



THE DEALER S DIRECTIONS 231 

“ I repeat,” the other began patiently, “ that I 
deal only with Mr. Dubois on-” 

“ Aw, cut it ! 99 

And Hanson was gone. 

Thus, even if the shopkeeper had been disposed 
to impart any more information about the little- 
used entrance to The Yellow Poppy, Hanson’s 
brusque departure prevented his adding anything 
definite. He emitted a noise which, translated 
from the Chinese, would be the chuckle of a man 
well pleased with himself, and resumed his work 
about the shop. For he had not told his burly 
visitor that when he had found the door imme¬ 
diately opposite the woodcarver’s open shop he 
would be no closer to Dubois than that closed door. 
Above the woodcarver’s shop a watcher would 
examine him as he stood there and knocked or 
turned the handle, and that watcher would make a 
sign to a man at an open window across the nar¬ 
row way, an old man bent almost double above a 
low table at which he smeared flaming dragons on 
cheap paper lanterns. If the watcher approved of 
the visitor at the door below, the crooked old man 
would rise from his pots of brilliant colors and 
toddle off into the darkness beyond. He could 
move more swiftly than any one would believe; 
once out of sight he would scuttle along to an open 
court and there call down to a watchman of The 



232 


IN SINGAPORE 


Yellow Poppy to hurry along the corridor and take 
a look at the impatient man standing outside the 
entrance. 

If the eye at the slit in the door decided that he 
should admit the caller, he could slip back the heavy 
bolts on the inside. Then, and then only, would the 
key carried by the man outside be of any use to 
him. Unlocking the padlock, he might push the 
door open. If he had no key—only once in a blue 
moon did some person not employed by The Yellow 
Poppy or a privileged guest learn of this entrance 
and seek admittance there—the watchman inside 
might wiggle his thumb and forefinger through the 
barred slit at the woodcarver at his bench. Then 
that worthy would swiftly cross the narrow space 
and unlock the door. 

It was the policy of The Yellow Poppy to have 
only one recognized and used entrance, but it was 
necessary, in order to preserve its calm appearance, 
that it have at least one other way in and out. 
There were more still and silent figures that passed 
out through this long corridor than there were liv¬ 
ing ones who passed in. 

But Hanson, who, despite his long and frequent 
dealings with Dubois, was still an outsider, knew 
nothing of these precautions, nor could he have 
learned all of them from the owner of the herb and 
seed shop. 



THE DEALER’S DIRECTIONS 233 


Some anger cools if it is restrained for a long 
time. Not so Hanson’s rage. It simmered at first, 
then mounted in temperature, then boiled; and as 
he paced along the way it seemed that unless it 
could soon blow off steam it would produce a stroke 
of apoplexy. No raging bull could have been 
fiercer. Children scuttled from before him; old 
men gazed aghast and nodded in bewilderment at 
the Western nature which wastes upon its own 
reserve powers the energy which the quiet Oriental 
stores up to expend upon his foes. 


CHAPTER XIX 


AT THE TOP OF THE STEPS 

The silent men at the top of the few steps in 
the corridor knew that it was daylight outside. 
Below the bottom of the door was a horizontal line 
of yellow light turning to white; through the 
hairlike cracks in the thick timbers filtered a few 
rays that announced the sun. 

Thomas felt that ages had rolled over his young 
head while he sat there trying not to squirm with 
discomfort or impatience. The others remained 
silent; being Orientals they remained speechless 
unless they had something worth saying. As for 
Dubois, he had lived among the Chinese so long 
and so intimately that he had absorbed and adopted 
most of their practices. Certainly he had nothing 
to say to these unmoved men whose motives he 
could not yet fathom. The crazy boy who had 
charged him with—he knew not what—may have 
hired them to attempt to kidnap him. He smiled 
to himself over the operation. They had not taken 
him very far away. Or there may have been some 
leak at the other end of Hanson’s operations. This 
possibility, although it might inconvenience his 

234 * 


AT THE TOP OF THE STEPS 235 

plans, did not disturb Dubois at all. If this were 
the reason for their high-handed attack on him, 
they might just as well have spared themselves their 
trouble. Nothing could come of it. 

Perhaps they thought they could draw Hanson 
into some kind of trap. Let them try it! Dubois 
did regret that he might be late at his meeting that 
morning on the quay, for this deal meant much to 
his savings, but he could judge the passage of time 
better than Thomas could. He knew the sun was 
not high. There remained ample time for going to 
the warehouse himself and finding Hanson. 

But suppose they kept him here too long! He 
stirred uneasily at that thought, then lapsed into 
quietude again. Thomas had turned anxiously at 
the movement, then sank into his torturing wait 
again. 

From beyond the heavy door came the occasional 
dull sound of passers-by, or the whirr of the primi¬ 
tive turning lathe of the woodcarver across the 
way, or the grinding of the wheels of a jinricksha. 
To occupy his mind, Thomas strained his ears to 
catch every faintest sound, and tried to picture the 
person who made it. In the cool of the morning, 
he knew that these sounds would be most frequent. 
As the sun rose, driving its concentrated rays down 
into these narrow ribbons of shadow between tall 
buildings, the atmosphere would grow still and 


236 


IN SINGAPORE 


heavy with intense heat. Shops would close, their 
masters would retire to the cooler depths of their 
houses, riders and pedestrians would be fewer; the 
thin trickle of life would cease entirely, and the 
confirming silence of the brilliant midday would 
settle on everything. 

Could he keep awake any longer? Did he dare 
drop asleep? Would he snore? In that midday 
quiet a snore, even a deep breath, would reecho 
like rumbling thunder. Could he endure this much 
longer? How many hours might have to be passed 
in this manner? It was horribly stifling. It was 
much more painful than swimming under water, 
for then he was really doing something, moving his 
body. But here—nothing! 

A couple of times Wan Tu put out his hand, 
touched Thomas, and motioned him to stretch his 
body, to stand up, to take one or two cautious steps 
to relieve the tension. When he did his muscles 
groaned, his bones creaked, his breath poured out 
like escaping steam, his footsteps boomed like 
sledge-hammer blows, but none of his movements 
attracted any attention from the others of the 
group. 

Only Dubois took advantage of every movement 
any of the others made to change slightly his own 
position. As for the Malay and the brawny 
Chinese they seemed like idols in a stone temple. 


AT THE TOP OF THE STEPS 237 

Several noises outside occupied Thomas for a 
time; then they faded away in both directions. 
Next a jolting jinricksha passed. The woodworker 
pounded lustily at the handle of a chisel for a time, 
the blows sounding more solid as the edge of the 
tool sank into the hard wood. Somewhere a bird 
was singing a weird jungle song. Thomas had 
never realized before how interesting the ordinary 
noises of a street may be. 

Then came the unmistakable sound of the heels 
and soles of thick leather shoes crunching on the 
stones. 

“ Some Westerner! ” Thomas muttered, half 
aloud. 

He saw Wan Tu shake his head from side to 
side, and he thought how wrong his guess might 
be. As always, Thomas reflected, Wan Tu was 
right. He passed quickly in review the kinds of 
Orientals he had seen sporting heavy leather shoes 
—“ boots,” as the Britishers call them. A sampan 
steersman had found a cast-off pair in some rub¬ 
bish and, having laced them with yellow rattan, 
stumbled about the frail after deck of his boat, to 
the envy of the other boatsmen. Filipino chauf¬ 
feurs saved to buy them; Europeanized Chinese— 
especially the women who tottered over the cobble¬ 
stones at the risk of flattening their noses and 
bruising their bodies—creaked along in bright 





288 


IN SINGAPORE 


yellow shoes. Workmen would plod along the 
dusty roads barefoot; but they would unsling their 
shoes from across their shoulders and force them 
on for the sake of appearance when they came to 
town. Dutch planters from Java, half-breed 
overseers, slender Singhalese, high and low caste 
Hindus—in fact, any strangely dressed Easterner 
might add a stranger note to his costume by scrap¬ 
ing along in thick-soled shoes. 

This man was striding forcefully with a rapid, 
even gait. Louder and louder sounded the thuds 
of leather and nails on the stones and packed clay. 
Then they stopped altogether. He was, no doubt, 
turning his head this way and that to find some 
shop. He had it. He took a few steps more and 
stopped again. He must be opposite the door. 

In the dim light of the entry, to which his eyes 
had become accustomed, Thomas could see the 
handle of the door turn slowly without making any 
noise. He could give a nod of approval to the 
care bestowed on every detail in The Yellow 
Poppy, but the next second his hair began to rise 
and his flesh to creep. In that silently turning 
handle, whose mover on the other side could not 
be guessed at; in the five pairs of staring eyes 
focused on that metal spot; in the danger that 
motion might foretell to them, or the struggle it 
might mean for the man outside—one against 


AT THE TOP OF THE STEPS 239 

several; in the fear that this visitor might rouse the 
dwellers in The Yellow Poppy and draw a mob of 
attackers from the rear;—in all these there was 
an element so terrifying that Thomas quailed. 

If they were rushed from behind, could they hold 
the men at bay? The space was narrow—an ad¬ 
vantage for the small band—but they were at the 
top of the steps. Once pushed from that post 
they would go toppling head over heels to the 
bottom. That would end their resistance. Could 
they force their way through the door? Could they 
break it open? And what would they meet? A 
clear street, or a second mob of irate men? 

Thomas glanced quickly at the others. Only 
Dubois seemed affected by the mysteriously turn¬ 
ing handle. His eyes seemed ready to start from 
their sockets as he strained forward, but he made 
no sound. It might be Hanson, but the chances 
against that were as many as those for it. Dubois 
still believed that his captors would soon grow tired 
and would ask him to release them by escorting 
them back and out through the main entrance; and 
then he could rush off to perform his half of the 
morning’s business transaction. 

He hoped, if it were Hanson, that he would take 
himself off quietly. A row would spoil everything 
now and render risky all their deals in the future. 

The caller had discovered that the door was 



240 


IN SINGAPORE 

locked. He pushed it. He pulled it. He “rattled 
it. He knocked violently upon it. He was deter¬ 
mined to get some kind of response to his demands 
for entrance. He wanted some news of Dubois. 
If the little Frenchman had tried to “ double- 
cross ” him, he more than ever wanted to know 
where he was. Let him get his hands on him just 
once! 

Wan Tu watched Dubois closely. When the 
latter, from the rough treatment the door was 
receiving, made up his mind it must be Hanson, 
the Chinese neatly placed the gag back into the 
captive’s mouth. Any cry that Dubois might have 
made, any order he might have given, any cry of 
warning he might have called was choked off in his 
throat. 

Hanson paused at intervals in his pounding to 
listen for footsteps inside. But he heard nothing. 

Across the street, the woodworker ceased tapping 
with his delicate carving chisel to observe the noisy 
man and then to remark to himself that he would 
not be asked to unlock the door for him. With 
the tail of his eye watching the broad back and 
bulging neck of the seaman, he resumed his in¬ 
tricate chipping. 

Above him the watcher signaled across the way 
to the shriveled painter; the bent artist put down 
the gorgeous orange globe he was balancing on his 


AT THE TOP OF THE STEPS 241 


knees, and waddled back into the shadows of the 
long narrow room. Leaning far out into the court¬ 
yard he called to the lounging watchman below, 
telling him especially of the noise the claimant for 
admittance was making. So skilfully planned and 
built was the rambling Yellow Poppy that no noise 
from the door had reached the main rooms. 

Wan Tu, however, felt that some one must come 
along this corridor to silence the persistent pounder, 
if only to tell him he could not come in. There 
was just the slim chance that his noise would mark 
him as an undesirable and that the refusal would 
be called down from a window above his head. No 
campaigner would trust to so slender a possibility 
as that, and Wan Tu swiftly rearranged his small 
force. 

A touch and gesture sufficed to draw the Malay 
away with him, while the burly Chinese followed. 
The first two, with catlike tread, vanished around 
the angle and moved on until they stood between 
it and the single door leading to the rooms of The 
Yellow Poppy. The Chinese posted himself at 
the turn, where he could observe both outposts and 
hasten to the aid of either, as he might be needed. 

About six feet from the door which they had 
closed behind them when they had entered the cor¬ 
ridor, Wan Tu and the Malay took their stand, 
listening for any sound before them. The Malay 


242 


IN SINGAPORE 


gripped in his right hand the knife he had un¬ 
sheathed at the beginning of their venture; now he 
stood with his left fist bulging inside the breast of 
his shirt, where, in a flat noose, a revolver hung. 
Wan Tu, who still felt that nothing they had done 
would necessarily produce violence—unless there 
were more confederates of Hanson inside The 
Yellow Poppy than he had been able to discover— 
did, however, grasp his own pistol tightly. 

He might not yet be able to see how his little 
band was to make its way from the walls of the 
building to the open air, but he was counting on 
two things dear to the Oriental owners of this place 
and to the servants who carried their orders into 
effect. They wanted no noises, no brawls, no 
suicides, no murders, no visits by the police, no 
crimes to call the officers into their establishment. 
“ Hush fights up ” and “ keep everybody quiet ” 
but “ get all the money we can from them ” were 
the three principal rules of its operation—rules 
carried out at any cost. 

While Dubois might be one of their best and 
trusted employees, he was, after all, an outsider, 
a foreigner. He was good at his work, to be sure. 
But if he became known as the center of a plot 
that attracted noisy disturbers; if his outside deals 
brought infamous notice upon his nightly routine 
of work; then his overseers and employers would 



AT THE TOP OF THE STEPS 243 

cast him off as indifferently as they threw away 
their worn-out sandals. 

There might be trouble—if Dubois insisted on 
making trouble—in getting him away; a plausible 
story told to the few occupants of the quarters in 
the daytime would insure easy and successful de¬ 
parture. What should that story be? So far Wan 
Tu, rack his brain as he would, had not hit upon 
one that satisfied him. 

“Too improbable,” was his unspoken judgment, 
as he reviewed and dismissed the long series. 

The one thought that kept his expectations at a 
hopeful pitch was that he was not a police officer, 
and therefore he would not be regarded with extra 
suspicion. 

Accustomed as he and the Malay were to the 
exercise of patience in critical situations, both of 
them thought it was an eon before the noisy rat¬ 
tling and knocking of Hanson produced any sound 
beyond the door they watched with so much ex¬ 
pectancy. 

Finally the sound of four pattering feet neared 
it. There was a pause; then the squeak of unlock¬ 
ing; and a flood of blinding electric light dazzled 
the eyes of the two waiting sentries. Two huge 
watchmen almost filled the doorway and peered 
into the corridor before entering to go to the outer 
door. Their bodies had swung past the door frame 




244 


IN SINGAPORE 


before they caught sight of the two men on guard. 
They paused and the four stood perfectly still. 

Should Wan Tu and the Malay rush them, or 
should they fall back gradually until their Chinese 
companion at the turn could reenforce them? In 
either case, what of Thomas and Dubois? 

The solitary sentry at the turn had divided his 
glances between Wan Tu and Dubois until the 
glare of the electric light had held his eyes upon 
the open door and the men from The Yellow 
Poppy about to step through it. With his attach¬ 
ment to Wan Tu, it was but natural that the boy 
and the man behind him should hold a secondary 
place in his attention. Nothing could reach them, 
anyhow, but before him were two attackers who 
might at any moment rush at his chief. 

Hanson had grown quiet. He was leaning 
against the door, trying to catch the first sound 
inside that would let him know that some one was 
hurrying to open it for him. 

Thomas had turned his eyes like a mechanical 
figure from his father’s face to the door. It was, 
therefore, Dubois who saw the slight change of 
light at the corner of the corridor when the watch¬ 
men appeared. 

Then the silence was broken again. 

Before Thomas could rise from his post on the 
step below Dubois, the latter had sprung erect and 


AT THE TOP OF THE STEPS 245 

had jumped back about six feet. To Thomas’s 
horror, he saw that the wily captive had been able 
to free one hand. He tore the silk handkerchief 
from his mouth and began to call, first for help, 
then to reassure Hanson that he was still alive and 
well. From his left wrist he shook the last coils 
of the thin rope from which he had been able to 
twist his hands free. 

“ Hanson! ” he yelled at the door. “ Stay there! 
I’m all right now. I’ll let you in. Don’t go 
away.” 

In his desire to call for help from inside he 
kicked viciously against the wall. All the while he 
kept his eyes glued on the boy, who, left to guard 
him, was now on his feet, plainly wondering what 
to do next. 

Thomas felt only one passionate desire. He 
must silence that kicking and pounding and stop 
those cries. Most terrible of all was the defiance 
expressed by the words to Hanson. Loyalty that 
might be, but what a frightful use of a worthy 
trait. All Thomas’s instinct revolted at what he 
heard. 

The space between the two men narrowed, and 
they sprang at each other at the same instant. 
Thomas tried to cover the other’s mouth, or shut 
off his breath, while Dubois had seized Thomas’s 
body in an endeavor to throw him down the steps. 


246 


IN SINGAPORE 


As they struggled, the boy could feel the other 
weakening. The man was no match in strength 
for the boy. He realized it himself, and began 
again to shout encouragement to the listening 
Hanson outside. 

“Hanson! Hang on! There’s a lot of time 
after I finish in here.” 

From the stretch beyond the turn came excited 
exclamations and cries, then the sound of running 
feet. The guards of The Yellow Poppy must be 
pouring into the corridor. The yelling Dubois 
must be silenced. 

Across Thomas’s mind there sped his early train¬ 
ing in bringing in an exhausted swimmer. He had 
been warned that a drowning man would seize him 
in a death grip around the neck. 

“ Knock him unconscious,” the sailor instructing 
him had directed. 

“ Where shall I hit him? ” Thomas had asked, 
for he remembered having seen a woman in the 
water cling to a policeman with both arms locked 
so tightly around his neck that she was strangling 
him. The officer, by jerking his head back, had 
struck her sharply on the point of her chin. She 
had gone limp at once, and her rescuer was able 
to tow her safely to a wharf, where she was revived 
and seemed none the worse for either her wetting 
or his blow. 


AT THE TOP OF THE STEPS 247 

The sailor had admitted that the chin was a good 
place to aim for, but he had said that a better place 
was just behind the ear. Thomas had seen many 
men put out of fights by blows in that place; in 
fact, in the greatest adventure of his own early 
years, he had seen Bill Johnson overcome the bully, 
“ Spider ” Higgins, by placing a blow behind the 
ear. 

The enraged Dubois knew nothing of how to 
protect himself. Thwarted in his first mad impulse 
to topple Thomas down the steps, he had expended 
his strength in twisting and turning and in calling 
to Hanson. 

Spurred on by the two desires of appearing 
dependable to Wan Tu and of preventing Dubois 
from meeting Hanson, Thomas shook off the hands 
that clawed at him. Abandoning the attempt to 
close Dubois’s mouth, he pushed him back and 
drew his own body clear of him. Meeting the wall 
with a soft thud, Dubois raised one foot behind 
him and gave it a resounding kick that echoed like 
a hammer blow and, at the same time, propelled 
him forward toward the waiting Thomas. 

The light was bad, and Thomas had hardly 
enough room behind him, but he grew perfectly 
calm in the short instant during which he awaited 
the onrushing body. His left fist made only a half 
swing, but it landed with terrific force squarely 


248 


IN SINGAPORE 


behind Dubois’s right ear. The latter’s head jerked 
sideways, then backwards. His open mouth ut¬ 
tered three syllables that sounded to Thomas like, 
“ The Johnson-” 



HIS LEFT FIST LANDED WITH TERRIFIC FORCE. 


But he could never be certain that he heard them 
properly. They may just as well have been “ The 
Hanson,” for all that Thomas could swear. 

Dubois swayed for a second on his unsteady legs, 
but before Thomas, who had draAvn back to see if 
another blow would be needed, could catch him, he 
had dropped into a soft bundle at his feet, and then 
went rolling down the few steps until he brought 
up short with a sickening crack of his skull against 
the flooring near the door. 













AT THE TOP OF THE STEPS 249 


Petrified with terror, Thomas could do nothing 
but stand at the top of the steps staring at the still 
figure curved on the boards below him. 

Hanson had listened with delight to the words 
of Dubois. They’d show them! He heard the 
scuffle; he could follow the blows; he knew when 
a good one had landed. He heard the crack of a 
fist landing behind the ear, the thud of the col¬ 
lapsed body, the sliding and rolling down the steps, 
the smash of the skull at the bottom. He waited 
for a reassuring shout from Dubois. 

In the silence that followed he moved hastily 
away. 


CHAPTER XX 


WHO IS WAN TU? 

When the electric light streamed through the 
opened door down into the corridor, showing the 
peering watchmen of The Yellow Poppy and Wan 
Tu and the Malay, the Chinese guard at the corner 
of the passage thought that he had better move 
along to lend support to his chief. Just then the 
yells of Dubois and the noise of the scuffle with 
Thomas reached his ears. He stopped in his ad¬ 
vance and called to Wan Tu a report, which, 
translated, would be: 

“ Man, boy fight.” 

He regained his post at the corner in time to 
see Thomas free himself from the grip of Dubois. 
Although he could not understand what Dubois 
was yelling, he realized that the noise must be 
silenced. But before he started to Thomas’s as¬ 
sistance, he could make a second report to Wan Tu. 
This time he said: 

“ Bully for boy! He knock man down steps! ” 

He found Thomas crouched above Dubois at the 
bottom of the steps, listening to his heart-beats, 
feeling his temple, and chafing his hands. Thomas 
had no fear that his own blow had done any 

250 


251 


WHO IS WAN TU? 

damage, but he was terrified when he thought of 
that terrific crack his father’s head had received 
against the flooring. Making signs to the Chinese, 
Thomas had Dubois lifted, slung across the man’s 
strong shoulders, and borne along the corridor. 

Let any one in The Yellow Poppy try to stop 
him now, if any one should dare! 

Before he and his companion appeared to the 
view of the expectant quartet, Wan Tu had told 
the employees that their croupier must have had 
an accident. He would have to be taken away. 

“ So much the better,” one of them had replied. 

“ You tell the chief, then, that I’ll be responsible 
that he makes no trouble for The Yellow Poppy,” 
Wan Tu added. 

“ Sure thing! No trouble wanted here.” 

One of them added, “ Get ’ricksha? ” At Wan 
Tu’s nod he ran through the rooms and down the 
entry to the street to hail one. 

Thomas addressed the remaining watchman. 

“ Tell them to get another man in his place for 
to-night and all other nights,” he directed. 

The native shrugged his shoulders to show that 
he did not understand. 

Wan Tu translated Thomas’s remark. 

That certainly would be done, the other ex¬ 
plained, for “ business must go on as usual.” 

At the street, where two jinrickshas were wait- 


252 


IN SINGAPORE 


ing, Thomas expected to find a crowd of pushing 
neighbors, eager to learn what the excitement was. 
He was disappointed—though he was hardly aware 
of it—at the lack of curiosity displayed in the 
departure of the attacking party to which he be¬ 
longed. 

A few pedestrians glanced at the helpless man 
being stowed away in a chair by an elderly Chinese, 
hired, no doubt, to take him home whenever he got 
himself into such scrapes. When they heard Wan 
Tu’s hotel address given, they passed on their ways 
wagging their heads in puzzlement at the antics 
of these “ foreign devils.” A few loitering men 
stared until the group got under way, but their 
remarks were few and low. 

The chair bearing Wan Tu and Dubois, followed 
by the one in which Thomas sat, was trundled down 
the street. The bulky Chinaman and the Malay 
walked off together. Then from the opposite curb 
the bespectacled dealer in herbs, the dusty wood- 
carver, and the smeared old decorator of paper 
lanterns gave their pajama trousers a hitch, sput¬ 
tered a few words to one another, and slowly 
sauntered back to their several occupations, relieved 
that at least there were no dead bodies carried out. 

On Wan Tu’s bed Dubois lay like an enchanted 
figure, only the slightest heart-beat indicating that 
he was alive. 


253 


WHO IS WAN TU? 

The young round-faced British doctor from the 
hospital—Horace Wilcox, his card read—dropped 
his long-worded professional manner when he 
talked to the suffering Thomas. 

“ Don’t look so worried, my boy,” he cried 
pleasantly. “ This is a mere nothing. Many a 
man his age gets a crack on the head as severe as 
this. So buck up! ” 

“Yes, but I hit him,” said Thomas, accusing 
himself of cruelty. 

“ You had to. Only thing to do. He’ll never 
know who did it. And he’ll not hold it against you 
when you tell him—if you ever do.” 

Then he resumed his professional air. 

“ Tell me again what he called out after you 
struck him.” 

“I’m not sure, but I think it was going to be 
something about 4 Johnson.’ I can’t be certain, 
you see, because ”—Thomas sought for a way 
of expressing himself without revealing anything 
about his father that he would rather have con¬ 
cealed—“ because he might use another name that 
sounds like Johnson.” 

“ Exactly. You’re right. Only let me ask you 
to be careful of one thing.” 

“ Anything! ” 

“ Your father may not remember much about 
these events here in Singapore—may not recall 




254 


IN SINGAPORE 


anything really. I’m told it was a blow of some 
kind that wiped out other years of his life.” 

“ Sounds like magnesia.” Thomas was glad to 
display his knowledge. “ Wait a second—I have 
it. Amnesia!” 

“ Splendid! ” Dr. Wilcox praised him. “ Ever 
hear of an airplane ride being used to restore a 
person’s speech? ” 

“ Of course I have.” Thomas had read in the 
newspapers of these astonishing cures. “ They 
take a child who has lost its speech through some 
disease, high up in a plane; then they loop the loop, 
or drop a thousand feet, ending with a sudden 
upward swoop; and often his speech is brought 
back by the shock.” 

“ We use it out here quite often after fevers and 
accidents.” 

“ Does it work every time? ” 

“Not always. That’s why you mustn’t expect 
anything in your father’s case. Only don’t be sur¬ 
prised at anything that may happen.” 

He delivered this last so seriously that all 
Thomas’s hopes, raised to the highest pitch by the 
remarks about the airplane cures, were dashed to 
the ground and shattered as terribly as is a plane 
itself when its pilot loses control and crashes to his 
death. 


“You mean 


he faltered. 



WHO IS WAN TU? 


255 


“ He may not remember anything. Still, in that 
case, you can teach him to know you and his old 
surroundings. But I’m letting you know this only 
that your hopes may not soar too high. I don’t 
expect he’ll be as bad as that. He has too much 
in his favor—excellent constitution, a long outdoor 
life, steady habits, and no worries during all his 
time here, so far as we know. But his mind, re¬ 
member, may take longer to heal than his body.” 

“ Shall I take him home? ” 

“ Long sea voyage? Best thing he could have.” 

“ But I hope-” began Thomas. 

“ So do all of us. Now get all the refreshing 
sleep you can yourself. No more night hours for 
you in gambling houses! And keep yourself in the 
best condition you can. You may have to supply 
strength for two. See you later. Cheerio! ” 
Thomas wondered how so manly a fellow could 
use such a silly expression instead of the sensible 
“ so-long ” when he took his departure, but he put 
Dr. Wilcox down as a “ good sport, anyhow.” 

Late that day the patient went through a dis¬ 
tressing period. He tossed and tumbled about the 
bed, struggling with both mental and physical 
anguish. In his mild delirium came shouts and 
exclamations, long rambling speeches and single 
words, sailors’ yarns, names of ships and ports and 
mates, commands, curses, descriptions of storms, 




256 


IN SINGAPORE 


threats, snatches of foreign languages, and, at last, 
a struggle with the pillows that sent them flying 
about the room; then came utter exhaustion, broken 


? 



THE PATIENT WENT THROUGH A DISTRESSING PERIOD. 

by twitchings of all parts of his body; then a deep 
sleep that Thomas at first thought was death. 

Through it all Wan Tu had listened and noted 
everything, restraining Thomas from doing any¬ 
thing that might interrupt the succession of feel¬ 
ings sweeping over the weakened man. In the calm 
of the deep sleep, the first thing the experienced 
man of the world pointed out to the suffering boy 
was that no remark of his father in this spasm of 
delirium had come from his life in Singapore or 
from his work at The Yellow Poppy. 

“You think he has forgotten all that? ” 


















WHO IS WAN TU? 


257 


“ At this present time, certainly. You’ve just 
seen for yourself.” 

“ But after this? ” Thomas expressed his appal¬ 
ling fear. 

“ We can’t predict what may come after this. 
Dr. Wilcox told you that. But every sign so far 
is a good one, don’t you think? ” 

“What do I know of such things?” wailed 
Thomas. 

The two lapsed into silence, and Wan Tu picked 
up a French scientific magazine. Thomas tried to 
become absorbed in the pictures of the Illustrated 
London News, but he found himself lifting his eyes 
above the picture pages to gaze at the amazing man 
sitting on the other side of the table. Recovering 
himself with a jerk, he would turn a page and try 
to see the figures in a picture of the thousands at 
the Goodwood races, where the “ Prince of Wales 
appeared in the regulation tall gray hat.” It was 
no use; he might just as well put the paper aside, 
though he knew that he should not look so fixedly 
at his companion. 

He noticed that Wan Tu still wore the crude 
dark clothes he had put on under his beautiful outer 
robe of the night before. He had prepared himself 
for any possible rough work that might have been 
forced upon him and his companions in taking 
Dubois from The Yellow Poppy. That costume 


258 


IN SINGAPORE 


should be worn by a laboring coolie rather than by 
the traveled Wan Tu. 

Thomas flushed, for Wan Tu raised his eyes 
from his reading and met his direct gaze. 

“ Well,” he asked pleasantly, “ what are you 
thinking about me? ” 

His slight hesitation saved Thomas from answer¬ 
ing, for a discreet knock at the outer door was fol¬ 
lowed by the appearance of the chief house-boy, 
who, proud of his English, whispered: 

“ Mr. Wan—telephone—down below.” 

“ Good news!” announced Wan Tu when he 
returned five minutes later. “ Hanson has left 
Singapore.” 

Thomas jumped with joy. 

“ Where’s he gone? ” 

Not sure, yet. We think to Shanghai or some 
port between here and there. Likely then on to 
the States.” 

Thomas’s first reaction of delight at the man’s 
departure cooled somewhat. Wan Tu quickly 
noticed it. 

“What’s the matter? You don’t look so 
pleased.” 

“ If I’m going to take my father home, it might 
be better if Hanson stayed in Asia. I never want 
to see him again! ” 

“ Oh, yes you do! ” 



259 


WHO IS WAN TU? 

Thomas stared up unbelievingly at this con¬ 
tradiction. 

“ Haven’t you something to tell him? ” 

The boy still did not understand. 

“ Tell him something? I should say not.” 

“ Don’t you want the pleasure of telling him 
straight in the teeth that it was you who sent him 
sailing so gracefully into the river? ” 

Thomas broke into a broad grin. 

“ That would be a pleasure,” he admitted. 

“ Stranger things than that may happen. Any¬ 
thing’s possible.” 

When he resumed his seat, Wan Tu did not take 
up at once the paper he had laid aside. 

“Just before I left the room,” he began invit¬ 
ingly, “ you looked as though you wanted to say 
something to me.” 

He waited. 

“ There’s nothing sure about it,” Thomas began 
gropingly, “ and it’s likely all rot. But I have a 
sneaking sensation that I’ve seen you somewhere 
before.” 

“What makes you think so? You’ve seen me 
often enough here in Singapore.” 

“ But always in different clothes that didn’t re¬ 
mind me of some one. Now, to-day, in those rough¬ 
looking togs—it’s only an impression, of course, 
but it bothers me every once in a while.” 



260 


IN SINGAPORE 


“ Feel it any stronger? ” 

Thomas shook his head. 

“ It just floats before my eyes, then slips away. 
I’m bound I’ll get it some time, unless you say it’s 
impossible. Only just a second ago, you said your¬ 
self that anything’s possible.” 

“ Do you think I could help you? ” 

“ I wish you could. I’d like to settle it.” 

“ Just a second.” 

Wan Tu vanished behind the open door of his 
wardrobe closet and made a few swishing sounds, 
as if changing his coat. When he reappeared he 
wore a spotted, greasy jacket that had once been 
white, but that had seen too much hard usage to 
lay any claim to its original spotlessness. Its sides 
were rumpled up by his hands, plunged deep in 
his trouser pockets; its neck flapped open, display¬ 
ing a darkened chest. The formerly immaculate, 
erect Chinese gentleman sidled across the floor with 
a slouching, rolling gait towards the waiting and 
wondering youth. 

Thomas sprang to his feet and stood spellbound 
until the common-looking laboring man pretended 
to spit. 

“ Not Sing Ho! ” he cried. 

The shambling figure resumed its dignified 
aspect. 

“ The same, at your service—at times.” 


WHO IS WAN TU? 261 

“ Not the silent old son-of-a-sea-cook on the 
Portlander? 33 

“ Why not, if business demands it? And not a 
bad cook at that, if I do say it myself.” 

“ And I never guessed it! ” 

“You would have worked it out for yourself. 
You were uneasy about me. You seem to be much 
more comfortable with the cook than with the 
gentleman.” 

“ But why were you willing to help me get even 
with Hanson? ” 

“ The fracas drew all the seamen out of the fore¬ 
castle, and I needed just three minutes alone with 
Hanson’s effects.” 

“ Then I really was helping you.” 

“ Undoubtedly. I hope you know I’m grateful 
to you. Even if you do tell me that all Chinamen 
look alike to you.” 


CHAPTER XXI 


A BOATSWAIN TO WATCH 

For Dubois the days passed in a long succession 
of quiet impressions, all of which were too strange 
for his comprehension. Most of all, it was difficult 
for him to understand who and what the young 
Thomas might be. With an unreasoning trust he 
accepted as quite natural the visits of the doctor, 
the presence of the Chinese Wan Tu about the 
room, the periodic appearances of the Malay jin¬ 
ricksha runner, and the native hotel attendants; but 
he would gaze anew at his unknown son and ask 
how he got there and what he was intending to do. 
Not for an instant could he believe that this strap¬ 
ping young man was the baby he remembered last 
as toddling about the Johnson boarding-house, far 
away in the States. 

“ If you say you’re my son, Thomas,” he had 
remarked, “ I’ll have to listen to you, I suppose. 
But I just can’t believe it.” 

And with that sufferance, Thomas had to be— 
for the time—content. 

The most hopeful indication of his father’s men¬ 
tal change was afforded by his total lack of any 

262 



A BOATSWAIN TO WATCH 268 

clear recollection about his work at The Yellow 
Poppy. The few shreds of memory that he still 
retained brought back to him some of the experi¬ 
ences he had gone through at various times in 
widely separated places where, like all seamen, he 
had tempted fortune by staking his pay. Never 
for a second did he recall that for years he had 
been regularly working at a gambling table. 

When he told his story to Wan Tu and the 
doctor, with Thomas overhearing from beyond the 
open door, he dwelt longest on the fight on the 
tramp steamer, the fight he thought had put him 
in the hospital for years and years, and from which 
he had only lately been discharged because he was 
cured, and because there had appeared from out of 
the distant States a young fellow who called him¬ 
self his son and who was ready and seemed anxious 
to carry his weak old father back home with him. 

“ But he may turn out not to be my son, after 
all. I know seagoing folk are the victims of all 
kinds of bunco games. Only that youngster had 
better not try any little game on me.” 

“ I’ll answer for him,” Wan Tu offered. 

“ So shall I,” added the doctor. 

“Who’ll answer for you two?” And Dubois 
squinted his eyes at them in an attempt to show 
that he might be weak for the time, but that he had 
all his wits about him. 


264 IN SINGAPORE 

The doctor had advised Thomas not to let his 
feelings get the better of him. He must not try 
to force matters. 

“ Just let your father get accustomed to having 
you about, and he’ll learn to accept you. Then, as 
his mind grasps the length of time that has elapsed, 
he’ll understand after a while why you’re not an 
infant in arms.” 

“ Won’t the long sea trip make him depend on 
me? ” 

“It surely will. So will his strangeness when 
you get him home.” 

“ How soon may we start? ” 

“ Almost any day.” 

“ I think Mr. Wan Tu wants to get away. I’d 
hate to feel that I am keeping him.” 

The doctor pondered for a time. 

“ He does want to be on the move. His work in 
other quarters, I suppose. If we don’t speak to 
him, he’ll be speaking to us.” 

“ Let’s do it first,” suggested Thomas. 

They did. 

Wan Tu did not hide from them the fact that 
he must be leaving soon. Thomas felt certain that 
some pursuit or shadowing of Hanson and his con¬ 
federates was still Wan Tu’s main concern. It 
required an effort for Thomas to turn his atten¬ 
tion to that part of his experiences, absorbed as he 


A BOATSWAIN TO WATCH 265 

was in details of sailing home with his half-invalid 
father. 

“ You mean I go home as passenger? ” asked 
Dubois incredulously, when a council around his 
bed discussed plans. “ Three cheers for that! The 
wild ambition of every sailor—to travel first class 
on a swell liner. I won’t know how to behave, but 
oh, how I’ll enjoy it! ” 

“ Think how you can help me learn about design¬ 
ing boats, with all your knowledge,” Thomas broke 
out enthusiastically. 

The flame in Dubois’s eyes died out. 

“You want to make me complete your educa¬ 
tion,” he began. Then he noticed the woebegone 
expression on the boy’s face, and he added half 
humorously: “ Father’s duty, I suppose. Oh, well, 
I’ll tell you all I know about boats in the first cou¬ 
ple of days. Then you let me enjoy myself.” 

“I’d like to see anybody stop a sailor from show¬ 
ing off his knowledge on a steamer,” said Wan Tu. 
“ But before you make your arrangements, there is 
one business matter you must attend to here.” 

Dubois grew serious and puzzled. Such things 
annoyed him. It was so much more pleasant just 
to let things drift their own way without trying to 
make them happen. 

“ What’s this? ” he asked sharply. 

“ If you go away,” Wan Tu explained patiently, 


266 IN SINGAPORE 

“ you ought to have some one here to look after 
your affairs.” 

“ Let Thomas stay,” came quick as a flash; “ he 
likes to do things for me.” 

They never were sure whether these sharp retorts 
were meant seriously or whether they came from 
the invalid’s peculiar sense of humor. They had 
adopted a practice of laughing them aside, and they 
did that now—all except Thomas, who winced 
painfully. 

“ Thomas has to go back. He can’t loiter in 
what he calls 4 outlandish quarters of the globe,’ ” 
observed Dr. Wilcox. “ No, you can’t escape him, 
Dubois. You’re going home with a male nurse, 
so lump it if you don’t like it.” 

“ There’s no need to hector me like a Dutch 
bo’s’n,” the sick man protested. 

“ Then you take your orders lying down,” the 
peppery physician advised him. 

“ What’s the business? ” the beaten Dubois asked 
in sign of submission. 

44 You must give a couple of persons here power 
of attorney, to act for you in anything that may 
come up,” Wan Tu informed him. 

44 What can come up about me? ” Dubois was 
defiant again. 44 Back pay? If I’ve been in the 
hospital long enough for that clipper,” nodding to 
Thomas, 44 to grow out of my little sloop, my back 


A BOATSWAIN TO WATCH 267 

pay is all used up. Damages? How could I collect 
anything now? Outlawed by time, all of it.” 

His brain was working better than usual to-day 
and everything he said was weighty. 

“ That’s not all there is to think about,” Wan 
Tu went about on another tack. “ When it’s known 
that you’re—better, how about claims against you? 
Even doctors,” he winked at Wilcox, “ may try 
to look you up. Then, sea chests and clothes and 
papers have an odd way of turning up at inconveni¬ 
ent—or convenient—times, and you, ’way off there 
in the States, may be glad of somebody over here 
to speak up for you when the need comes.” 

“ Cost anything? ” Dubois had a thrifty thought. 

“ Not unless we have an unexpected fortune to 
settle,” laughed Wilcox. 

“ It may be the sensible thing to do, after all.” 

They seized upon that grudging permission and 
had the papers drawn immediately. Like all 
sailors, having assented to doing it, Dubois wanted 
it made trebly secure; so, not content with one 
person to serve as his representative, he insisted on 
three. It was a strange sight—after his active 
resistance—to see him admonishing his three 
agents, seated respectfully beside his bed. To all 
his long list of cautions and suggestions, Man¬ 
chester, the clerk at the Seaman’s Rest, listened 
attentively because he was really impressed, and 






268 


IN SINGAPORE 


Inspector Allmayer because he wished to humor an 
ailing man; but Dr. Wilcox squirmed and fidgeted 
as long as he could stand it. Jumping to his feet 
he broke off the long rigmarole pouring like a ship 
yarn from the self-satisfied Dubois. 

“ I’ll have to take charge of my patient,” he 
announced. “ This is enough excitement for one 
day. Off with you, gentlemen. I never heard a 
sick man rattle on so ceaselessly. Thomas, you 
have all my sympathy if on board ship your father 
once begins to tell you all he knows about boats. 
Whew! ” 

The doctor’s device for ending the discussion 
was more a measure of self-protection than care 
for Dubois. The patient thrived on bustle and 
excitement. Although he was not aware of it, his 
mind’s return to the active life of his earlier voyages 
had emphasized all the differences between physical 
effort and the monotonous calm of his long period 
of quiet work in Singapore. Had there been a war 
going on, he would have tried to enlist. Talk about 
the various ships going home, whether one ship all 
the way or several in short stages would be better, 
in which direction they should go (Thomas was 
anxious to sail eastward and thus make the circuit 
of the globe), how much clothing should be bought 
for Dubois, whether they should buy trunks or 
several small suitcases and valises, whether higher- 


A BOATSWAIN TO WATCH 269 


priced staterooms were worth the more money, 
where they should have their deck chairs, where 
they should sit in the dining saloon—all these mat¬ 
ters brought animation to him. The stimulation 
was not a bad thing, for the energy he expended on 
these long conversations made him tired enough 
to sleep and eat well. 

To Thomas the real thrills came from poring 
over the plans of the great ships in order to weigh 
the merits of the locations of the staterooms offered 
them by the agents. He found himself as much en¬ 
grossed in structural features as in sleeping quar¬ 
ters. Where were the reenforcing beams of steel? 
Why was there no porthole there? There must be 
a joint in the plates. Why not a linen closet in 
that corner? Why so much empty space amid¬ 
ships? Finally Wan Tu urged him to carry all the 
plans with him for study on the trip. 

“ And you can argue about everything, not only 
with your father but with every member of the 
ship’s crew. The engine-room staff especially will 
agree with all the faults you find in the boat’s de¬ 
sign. I’ve never found an engineer yet who was 
satisfied with a liner.” 

Then, after all their noisy talking, it was very 
likely Wan Tu—though Thomas came to believe 
this only a day before they actually sailed who 
determined their choice of route and steamship. 



270 IN SINGAPORE 

These two had a serious but short conversation, fol¬ 
lowed by a rambling walk about the sailors’ section 
of the city, in which Wan Tu scrutinized closely 
several men, quietly pointing them out to Thomas 
and commenting on what they might be like, where 
they were shipping to next, and some facts about 
their latest voyages. It was not mere chance that 
let them be met by the Malay jinricksha runner as 
they emerged from this section of the town. Wan 
Tu hailed him and received a report as he climbed 
into the seat. 

“ The man we thought likely has signed on your 
boat,” Wan Tu told Thomas. “We’ll go aboard 
as soon as we can, so I’ll be able to point him out 
to you before you sail. Keep your eyes open at all 
times, but especially as you enter the harbor at the 
end of the voyage. I may be able to get a word 
to the captain, but I’ll give you the two slips of 
paper I promised you. Till to-morrow.” 

As Thomas sauntered back to his father’s room, 
he could not help feeling a little “ let down,” a little 
saddened by the realization that it was all over. 
The adventure was finished, his trip had been suc¬ 
cessful, and with that successful conclusion came 
a sense of emptiness not yet filled by the bustle of 
the departure or the long delights of ship life. 

Should he ever see Wan Tu again? For the 
first time he realized that he did not know what 


A BOATSWAIN TO WATCH 271 

that much-traveled person intended to do. Was he 
likely to turn up in the States or likely to dive into 
the underworld of the Chinese sea coast? Well, 
whatever might be the next stage of the trip around 
the world, Thomas could always draw boats, and 
so have a mass of sketches for his work later. 

Both present and anticipated pleasure ran high 
in Thomas and his father on the next day when 
they rode out to join the liner that looked like a 
tiny yacht from the water-front and then, as they 
neared her, began to swell until she towered above 
their little craft like a skyscraper. Not for them 
the crowded public tender, bobbing slowly out with 
its confusion of baggage, passengers, and farewell 
friends. As soon as they could go aboard they 
rode out in the same purring launch that had found 
Thomas swimming on his back under the night 
mist. They were the first passengers to mount the 
ship’s landing stairs. 

The bustle of making ready for sea was still 
going on, a minor officer reminded them, lest they 
resent the ropes, the hoses, the moisture, and the 
seamen crawling about. 

“Doesn’t annoy us at all,” replied Wan Tu. 
“ Besides, I’m not going with you.” 

“ We like it all the better,” Thomas explained 
for his father and himself, drawing himself up 
proudly. “ We’re ship’s people.” 


272 


IN SINGAPORE 


The liner was not very new, not very fast, and 
not at all luxurious, but to Thomas she seemed like 
the last word in comfort. To Dubois she appeared 
to have nothing except “ dude quarters,” but he 
said that he guessed he could sleep in them. 

“ Two hours before sailing,” said Thomas. 
“ You just tuck yourself in and sleep now. I’ll 
call you half an hour before we go, so you’ll have 
all the excitement of waving good-by to Singapore. 
You’ll live on this boat for weeks, so you needn’t 
see all of her in the first hour.” 

“ You’ll be sure to wake me? ” 

“ Cross my heart.” 

Wan Tu and Thomas strolled until they found 
the watch fastening down the forward hatches. 
Thomas’s eyes questioned the Chinese. 

“ The bo’s’n,” the latter said simply. 

Thomas looked the man over carefully. He was 
slender, but quick and wiry. He spoke to his men 
quietly, and though the tone of voice might make 
them believe that they could approach him fa¬ 
miliarly, there was a cold reserve about his manner 
that held them off. Thomas wondered if he ever 
laughed heartily, and decided that he did not. It 
would be easy to mark what he did on board; there 
would be no chance of mistaking him at a distance 
or in a dim light. 

“ Especially when you’re going up the harbor,” 


A BOATSWAIN TO WATCH 273 

Wan Tu repeated. “ \ ou may have to miss seeing 
the famous sky-line.” 

“ I grew up with it,” Thomas replied. “ I can 
see it any day from a common ferry-boat.” 

“ You’ ’ll have those two slips of paper where you 
can get at them quickly? ” 

“ They'll be on me those last few days.” 

“ Keep them on you always. Just remember, as 
we’re looking him over, some one may be looking 
you over.” 

Thomas nodded. 

“ I’ll not forget that,” he promised. 

He swept his eyes around over the busy roadway. 

“ By the way,” he began, “ are you staying on 
here? ” 

For answer, Wan Tu pointed to a steamer en¬ 
tering the narrow straits. At sight of her graceful 
lines, her jauntiness, her spotless luxuriousness, 
Thomas uttered a cry of delight. She was as beau¬ 
tiful as a private yacht. 

“ On that? ” he exclaimed. 

“She stays until midnight to let her through 
passengers have twelve hours ashore and stretch 
their legs to-night in dances at the boat clubs and 
hotels. Even at that I’ll pass you before you have 
your breakfast to-morrow.” 

“ She’s going-? ” 

“ I’m going to Kobe—Yokohama—on her.” 



274 


IN SINGAPORE 


The first packed tender bumped alongside, and 
for the next hour there was pandemonium, from 
which Wan Tu escaped in his smart launch as soon 
as he could. 

It was impossible to tell which of the bustling 
crowd were to be ship’s passengers and which were 
the enthusiastic friends who stay until just before 
the boat starts in an endeavor to get out of their 
systems all the last messages they should have de¬ 
livered during the preceding twenty-four hours. 
As the boat became more shipshape, the real trav¬ 
elers became more and more nervous lest their 
friends be left on board; the resounding gong and 
the polite request of the cabin-boys of different 
nationalities, “ All visitors off the ship, please,” 
produced little effect. After most of the calling, 
waving crowds had been gently pushed to the rail¬ 
ing, down the stairs, and into their boats, they still 
persisted in darting in close again to receive a last 
word or to shout up a last piece of advice. 

Native souvenir dealers called their wares and 
held them up as final enticements. There were the 
imitation ivory and jade, the carved teakwood 
ornaments and toys, the “ genuine ” malacca canes, 
the brushes of brilliant plumage (which fade to 
drab chicken feathers in a few weeks), the imitation 
opium pipes, the little bone jinrickshas (which fall 
apart in damp weather), the brilliant batik-dyed 


A BOATSWAIN TO WATCH 275 



SLIM BROWN BOYS DIVED FOR COINS 



























276 


IN SINGAPORE 


cloths, the necklaces of Chinese coins with square 
holes in them. When some woman suddenly re¬ 
membered that she should have another gift for the 
hired girl she would decide on one of these gim- 
cracks, and then call down piteously: 

“ How shall I get it up here? ” 

Then several lookers-on would show her that the 
crafty dealers, before they had been driven back 
to their bobbing boats, had left several coils of 
twine along the railing so that any article could be 
pulled up—after the money had been sent down. 
And many a purchaser found to her sorrow that the 
article she bore away was not the one held up for 
her acceptance. 

Slim brown boys dived for coins flung into the 
water, their beautiful bodies outlined in blue flashes 
as they overtook the shining disks. In a flatboat 
three old musicians twanged on whining musical 
instruments while a girl swayed and wailed, inter¬ 
rupting her dancing and singing to catch in a net 
on a pole any poorly aimed contribution that might 
fall into the water instead of the boat. 

Pet monkeys chattered and tethered ducks 
quacked; steam-launch whistles screamed and 
bells clanged; British orders were answered in 
Malay protests; pidgin English explained Amer¬ 
ican slang; trunks banged and suitcases slid along 
the decks; chains creaked over engine drums and 



A BOATSWAIN TO WATCH 277 

ropes whined through pulleys; seamen heaved on 
hawsers as they chanted to time their pulls; the 
deep whistle shook the whole boat; and slowly and 
noisily the huge anchor chain clanked upwards. 
The liner swung lazily around in the channel. On 
the bridge the signals were set for the engine room; 
the propellers began to revolve slowly, churning 
the deep blue water into a white lather. Every 
boat with any noise-making device aboard worked 
it to its limit. Almost imperceptibly the great hulk 
began to slip through the water and the long voy¬ 
age home was begun. 

Thomas and Dubois, with no last-minute fare¬ 
wells, had been absorbed in every detail of the de¬ 
parture. As the boat gained its full speed—so 
powerful, yet so graceful—Thomas drew a deep 
breath of delight. Then, as he felt his father’s eyes 
fixed upon him, he flushed at his display of pleas¬ 
urable emotion. 

“ You love boats? ” Dubois asked, and Thomas 
was conscious that the older man used the word 
“ love ” in a perfectly natural manner, though 
Thomas would have avoided so strong a term. 

“ I certainly do,” he replied happily. 

“ Well, then,” Dubois went on, “ because of that, 
I adopt you as my son—for this voyage, at least! 

But the emotion which surged over Thomas was 
too great to make it safe for him to answer at all. 




CHAPTER XXII 


THE BOX GOES OVERBOARD 

Thomas never learned the boatswain’s name. 
The other one was called angrily or familiarly—as 
the seamen’s moods changed—by a dozen disagree¬ 
able or friendly nicknames, but the small, quiet 
officer was always simply “ The Bo’s’n.” He never 
opened himself to any of his companions; he never 
yarned with the engine-room workers when they 
came up for air from the heated quarters below; 
he never carried on chats with questioning pas¬ 
sengers; all the curiosity and knowledge of Dubois 
and Thomas about boats never won from him any¬ 
thing more than the shortest exact answer to any 
of their questions. When they made statements to 
him, a mere shake of the head was all the reply they 
evoked. 

On Dubois, wise in the peculiarities of men who 
follow the sea, this silent streak made no impres¬ 
sion; but to Thomas—intent on the man because of 
Wan Tu’s directions and, unlike Dubois, informed 
about him—this isolation was an indication of more 
than personal queerness. It showed to the inexperi¬ 
enced youth that the man needed watching. 

There was still some awkwardness between fa- 

278 



THE BOX GOES OVERBOARD 270 

ther and son, but Dubois was really trying to accept 
the strange boy as the grown-up version of his 
helpless infant, and Thomas was expecting less 
demonstration from the shaken and wracked par¬ 
ent. By easy and natural stages they were being 
brought together in the close relationships that 
weeks of ship life necessitate. Calm weather and 
gusty weather, flat seas and heaving ones, thunder¬ 
storms and moonlight, torrents of rain and blankets 
of fog, passing ships to look at and long stretches 
of monotonous ocean, attractive new passengers 
and dull old bores, fascinating romantic ports and 
smelly marsh flats at low tide—all these succeeded 
one another through the weeks, until the stiff cooler 
breezes and the long powerful surges of the North 
Atlantic stirred all the ship’s company into the 
animated bustle of preparing to land. 

Dubois, now almost entirely well and normal 
except for long hours of dull relaxation, was the 
only person on board who was not eager to set foot 
on land once more. He recognized—and this was 
an excellent symptom—this reluctance in himself 
and could discuss it coolly and clearly with Thomas. 

“ It means I’ve got to adjust myself again to 
an entirely new life,” he summed it up. 

All that Thomas could think of in reply was: 

“ It won’t be any harder than it used to be when 
you shipped on a new boat.” 




280 IN SINGAPORE 

His father always reduced that comfort by re¬ 
torting: 

“But there I always had to work hard with the 
men I was living with. Now, give me work to keep 
me busy and it won’t take long.” 

To that Thomas had no satisfactory answer. 

His own excitement as they neared New York 
was difficult to control. While he yearned in every 
nerve to be with the other passengers, chest pressed 
against the railing of the forward deck to catch the 
first glance of the lighthouses or the hazy line that 
might be land, he had to remind himself that his 
eyes should be open for every move of the boat¬ 
swain. 

In the dog-watches the sailors cleaned out their 
bundles of belongings in order that they might land 
lightly burdened. Overboard from the forward 
deck and the waist went old boots, shoes, shirts, 
overalls, hats, sweaters, broken pipes, cracked 
mugs, empty tobacco boxes, tools without handles 
or blades, old yellow newspapers, torn magazines, 
a punctured accordion, victrola records, and several 
smashed boxes. 

“ That’s the kind of thing I must watch,” 
Thomas told himself; and from then on he never 
came on deck without taking a turn about to scan 
the water for floating objects. He began to consult 
the tide-tables carefully and to estimate the ship’s 


THE BOX GOES OVERBOARD 281 

daily run. He seemed so careless of the approach¬ 
ing end of the voyage that his father spoke to him. 

“ My boy, unless you do some packing, your 
valuable sketches will go overboard or be left be¬ 
hind.” 

“You do them up for me. You’ll be glad of 
something to occupy your hands.” 

His father’s absorption in these small details 
gave Thomas all the more time to prowl about the 
ship. He kept his eyes on the boatswain whenever 
he could, watching the port-holes and the com¬ 
panionway of the forecastle like a cat when the 
man’s watch was below. 

The stream of cast-off belongings went circling 
through the air and slapping the water, yet never 
a thing did the boatswain discard. 

“ How can he keep all his junk,” Thomas asked 
himself, “ when all the other men are cleaning out 
their stores and chucking overboard all they can 
do without? ” 

The boatswain carried himself as unconcernedly 
as he had during all the voyage, not for a moment 
allowing himself to be affected or influenced by the 
actions of others. The strain on Thomas was al¬ 
most more than he could bear, for he was anxious 
to take his eyes from the boatswain and join the 
other passengers in the search for land. 

There was no mistaking the sight of land this 


282 


IN SINGAPORE 

morning, when a little before eight o’clock a few 
early risers dotted the rail and assured one another 
that they could see Long Island, and spoke of the 
probability of landing late that afternoon. So 
many persons wanted to talk about the end of the 
long voyage that Thomas had a difficult time in 
maintaining a post where he could look down at the 
forward deck and forecastle. Eight bells sounded. 
The fresh watch stumbled up the narrow forecastle 
steps and into the brilliant sunshine. The watch 
whose turn had just ended clattered across the high 
sill of the doorway and down the steps to a bolted 
breakfast and a four-hour sleep. For two full min¬ 
utes the forward end of the ship was clear of all 
men. 

Then from the companionway stepped the boat¬ 
swain, his arms laden with cast-off clothing and 
odds and ends of worthless junk. Slowly he gave 
a last shake to his little pile before he tossed the 
pieces over on that side of the vessel from which 
the coast of Long Island could be seen rapidly 
rising into the sky-line of the city of Brooklyn. 

Thomas held his breath as he watched the dis¬ 
arming openness of the boatswain’s actions. True, 
he seemed to have chosen marvelously well. His 
own watch was stuffing its coarse breakfast below 
decks. The other watch had been drawn off to its 
jobs about the ship. Not one seaman was working 


THE BOX GOES OVERBOARD 283 

forward. Officers high on the bridge above him 
would not give him a second glance or a single 
thought. Passengers might be idly curious, but all 
during the day before they had seen individuals 
getting rid of surplus loads, and the evening before, 
between four and six o’clock, there had been a reg¬ 
ular disgorging. Why should a passenger watch a 
seaman toss overboard tin cups, broken rules, key 
rings, a shaving mug, two corkscrews, a pair of 
suspenders, a tropical helmet, three socks, three 
shirts, part of a blanket, and a mouth organ? 

The pile grew smaller. Only a frayed red under¬ 
shirt remained on the deck. But the boatswain did 
not toss this carelessly through the air; he stepped 
to the rail and sent it as far from the ship’s side 
as he could. From the way he propelled it Thomas 
suspected that it was heavier than an undershirt 
could be. Its shape was peculiar, too. There was 
a more solid splash than cloth itself could make. 
Something solid sank beneath the red folds; in an 
instant it bobbed up a few feet away and floated 
with one corner above the rippling water. 

Thomas could have cried aloud. The article was 
a square, shallow box, roughly bound and wrapped, 
such as he had seen transferred to Hanson in 
Singapore! 

He had warned his father not to be disturbed at 
any strange events that might occur at landing 


284 IN SINGAPORE 

time. But it was fortunate that Dubois was not 
on deck at that time. Even the news of land in 
sight could not get him out of his luxurious bunk 
earlier than just a few minutes before the dining¬ 
room closed for breakfast. Had he beheld his son 
he might have considered him out of his wits—no 
doubt unsettled by getting near home. 

Like a young sprinter Thomas dashed to the 
wireless room, where he scratched a few words on a 
blank. 





SEND THIS ! ” HE CRIED. 


“ Send this,” he cried to the young operator, 
“ before anything else you have.” 

“ Chase yourself,” the other replied cheerily, 
pointing to a stack of forms on his sharp file. 

















THE BOX GOES OVERBOARD 285 


“ No joking.” 

Thomas pulled from his wallet a small card that 
Wan Tu had handed him. 

“ This means my message goes now.” 

The wireless operator’s eyes and mouth went 
round as he took Thomas’s message. Not a syllable 
of comment did he make as he began to send, while 
Thomas waited until his marconigram got through. 

“ Now for the bridge,” he reminded himself. “ I 
hope the Captain’s there.” 

This worthy in tousled hair and soft slippers had 
stepped out to see how soon he might expect to 
receive the pilot. 

“Hello!” he greeted Thomas. “Now I hope 
you don’t want to make sketches up here this morn¬ 
ing. You know we’re getting close in and-” 

“ Nothing of that sort now,” interrupted 
Thomas, adding an over-respectful “ Sir ” to make 
his speech sound like ship talk. “ All I want is to 
be put off on the quarantine tug when the doctors 
come out-” 

“ On the quarantine tug! ” repeated the aston¬ 
ished Captain. “ You don’t want much! Not sick, 
I hope? Then why? ” 

“ I’ve got to get on a launch that will come down 
to meet that tug when she pulls away from your 
ship,” Thomas explained. 

“ You tell me plainly enough what you want,” 




286 


IN SINGAPORE 


said the Captain, feeling that he must put an end 
to the bantering, “ but you don’t tell me why I 
should let you do anything so irregular.” 

“ This is why,” was all Thomas said as he handed 
over the slip of paper given to him in Singapore 
by Wan Tu. 

The Captain examined it slowly, then gave a low 
whistle. 

“ Wait,” was all he said. 

A minute later he returned with a neatly uni¬ 
formed youth not much older than Thomas. 

“ Here’s my Fourth Officer. I can spare him 
until the tugs warp us into the pier. He will be 
able to take care of you. Give him any order you 
wish.” 

The two youths acknowledged the introduction 
by an exchange of glances. 

“ I’ve got to tell my father that I am going off 
on the tug,” Thomas said. “ Will you get your 
most powerful glasses and keep that floating thing 
—it’s a wooden box—in sight? When the tug 
comes alongside I’ll meet you on the steps.” 

The Fourth Officer ducked into his cabin and 
reappeared with his glasses dangling around his 
neck. In another second he had focused them on 
the bobbing black spot. 

“ I’ll keep that in sight easily,” he assured 
Thomas. “ It’s moving in with the tide and with 




THE BOX GOES OVERBOARD 287 

our stops for pilot and doctor it will move almost 
as fast as we do.” 

“ As a kid I grew up over there on the water¬ 
front of that city,” said Thomas, pointing. “ Don’t 
I know how the old tide can rush in through these 
narrows! You will have to go to the stern as it 
drops behind.” 

“ It won’t get away from me. But won’t the 
tide sweep it in towards shore? ” 

“ We’re counting on that,” was all that Thomas 
answered. 

Half an hour later a deck steward handed 
Thomas a marconigram. Although he had no 
knowledge of the person who signed it, he learned 
from it the name of the launch he should board 
from the quarantine tug. 

Thomas had listened to the complaints of the 
seasoned travelers in advance at the visit of the 
quarantine doctors to the ship, forcing them to pass 
like herded cattle through the dining saloon or the 
library and be pronounced well enough to set foot 
again in their native land; but he was thankful for 
the disagreeable practice, because all he had to do 
was to meet the doctors at the head of the stairs, 
show himself and Wan Tu’s magic slip of paper, 
and turn anxiously to the waiting Fourth Officer. 

“ It’s just about a quarter of a mile astern,” was 
the report, “ and moving this way fast. If you 


288 IN SINGAPORE 


cruise back and forth a few times here you’re sure 
to spot it.” 

“ Good,” said Thomas, his foot on the third step. 
“ Many thanks to you.” 

“ What about glasses? ” the other asked, detain¬ 
ing him. 

“ Some on the launch I’m to board. There she 
comes now! ” 

Thomas sped down the steps and across the 
squat tug to see if the launch could come alongside 
to take him off at once. She was going to attempt 
it. 


Her wide circle brought her up to pass the tug 
slowly at a distance of about a yard. It would be 
foolhardy to come any closer, for an unexpected 
pitch or roll of the heavy tug would crush the thin 
timbers of the speed-boat. Thomas was crouching 
on the outside runway of the tug, holding to a deck 
worker’s strong fist. 

Two voices—the tug man’s and the helmsman’s 
on the launch—gave him the command at the same 
time. 

“ Jump!” 

He flopped in a bundle on the bottom of the 
launch. When he straightened himself and looked 
back, there was a quarter of a mile of choppy water 
between him and the liner. 



CHAPTER XXIII 


TOM AND HANSON MEET 

Half an hour of zigzag cruising was enough to 
intercept the slow drifting of the roughly wrapped 
box. In that time Thomas had exchanged only a 
few words with the three men in the boat, who had 
accepted him without any questioning and who paid 
to his slightest remark more respect than he had 
ever obtained from any associates, though he tried 
to believe that the boys with whom he had swum 
along this same body of water had respected his 
opinions and remarks. 

Watching that bobbing box was tiresome work 
for Thomas. He regretted this interference with 
his expected experiences at the pier when the liner 
should dock. Not for him were there to be any 
discussions over baggage with customs inspectors; 
not for him the joy of pulling together into one 
pile the bags of his father and himself; not for him 
the joy of showing his father how much he was at 
home in the confusion and bustle of the great 
metropolis. In his disappointment he totally over¬ 
looked the fact that Dubois had not only known 
most of the large ports of the world before Thomas 
could spell out their names on his school maps, but 

289 


290 


IN SINGAPORE 


also that he had knocked about this same great 
harbor long before his infant son could wash his 
own face and ears. 

“ Now, where’s that confounded box? ” de¬ 
manded Thomas, whose thoughts had been far 
away from his present task. 

A nod from the nearest government agent 
showed him the spot among the ripples of the 
water. 

At times, to keep abreast of their marker, they 
had to pretend that they had engine trouble and 
shut off the propeller completely. At other times 
a current would race the box in towards shore and 
up the narrows with the speed of a homeward 
bound tugboat. Then, at last, it set in steadily 
towards the corner of Brooklyn. 

They were now threading their way in and out 
among craft of all kinds, from humble garbage 
scows to the swagger private yachts of Long Island 
residents. The chief of the Federal officers was all 
eyes now, because dumpy rowboats with roughly 
dressed amateur fishermen and family parties out 
for an hour’s row were edging along the shore. 

“ Take this,” he remarked to Thomas. 

Thomas hesitated, but the other insistently held 
out to him the small revolver. 

“ We all have them in our pockets,” the officer 
went on. “ You should have one, too.” 


TOM AND HANSON MEET 291 

Thomas held the weapon awkwardly. 

“ Ever use one? ” the man asked. 

“ Never,” Thomas replied. “ Haven’t the 
slightest idea-” 

“ Just press that button and pull on the trigger 
and she’ll keep on shooting as long as she has any 
pills,” the other explained. “ Put it in your right 
side pocket—your coat—where you can get it 
quickly.” 

“ Then there’s danger? ” 

“ We never know. We can’t afford to take the 
chance. Some of these birds are cold eggs, if you 
know what I mean. Yet, at times the hardest- 
boiled are the easiest to gobble up. Understand? ” 

“ I think so,” ventured Thomas. 

“ Slow down,” called the helmsman. “ I think 
we’re going to get a bite. Let’s keep farther away.” 

Many of the occupants of the small boats had 
cast casual glances at the box Thomas and his mates 
were watching, but only such glances as they cast 
on floating soda-pop bottles or watermelon rinds. 
Now, however, an ordinary rowboat appeared to 
be slowly drawing up alongside the box with some 
intentions upon it, yet the actions of the two men 
and the one woman in the boat might be perfectly 
natural and innocent. 

A young man in shirt-sleeves was rowing towards 
no place in particular. In the bow sat a woman 





292 


IN SINGAPORE 


in a thin dress, protecting her face from the sun by 
an open umbrella. 

“ Look at the handle on that umbrella,” the man 
near Thomas said, motioning him to bend over to 
conceal the glasses behind the wind shield. 

He gazed as directed. 

“ It has a curved hook for a handle,” he reported. 

“ Keep your eyes glued on her, while I cover 
the fat fellow in the stern.” 

Whether by design or accident, the rowboat had 
drawn closer and closer to the wooden box, until 
they were not more than a foot apart. The woman 
with the umbrella turned quickly from one side of 
the boat to the other. In her rapid movement she 
lost her grip on the umbrella. Over it went; but, 
as Thomas plainly saw, it completely covered the 
box. The rower stopped. He yelled some criti¬ 
cism at her, and some direction to the huge figure 
lolling in the stern, who suddenly awoke to action. 
He leaned far over to the side while the oarsman 
balanced the boat by leaning in the other direction. 
The floating umbrella was captured and held to 
drip beside the boat for a few minutes. Then it was 
lifted aboard and was passed from the man in the 
stern to the oarsman, and by him to the woman in 
the bow. 

“ Slickest trick I’ve ever seen!” broke out the 
man at the wheel in the launch. 


TOM AND HANSON MEET 293 

The box from Singapore was no longer floating 
on the ingoing tide. 

“ It didn’t sink, did it? ” cried Thomas. 

“ Sink? Nothing like it. It’s on the bottom of 
that rowboat.” 



SHE LOST HER GRIP ON THE UMBRELLA. 


“ I can’t believe it,” protested Thomas. 

“ Just watch that fellow row now. Oh, yes, we 
believe you! The lady’s row is spoiled because her 
umbrella got all wet. So you have to take her back 
home. We’re glad you do, for we’re going to be 
there when you arrive! ” 

When the three pleasure-seekers clambered from 
their hired boat at the slip, the four occupants in 
the launch drew up at another landing a few piers 
distant. When Thomas stood erect and, in spite of 




















294 


IN SINGAPORE 

directions not to watch the carriers of the box on 
the other slip, turned to look at them, they had al¬ 
ready disappeared from view. 

“ You may be known to them,” the chief said to 
Thomas. “ Give us about three minutes’ start. 
Watch the cross-street up there to see whether we 
come back to the left. Give no sign that you see 
us, but follow. In this neighborhood, and with the 
trick we’ve just seen, I’ll bet they lead us to a 
rented flat. Come right in. By the time you get 
there, all the shooting will be over.” 

It was easy for Thomas to keep the tallest of the 
Federal agents in sight as he hurried along the 
street parallel to the water-front, and as he in¬ 
creased his speed along a cross-street into which the 
three occupants of the rowboat had turned. When 
Thomas hurried around this corner the woman and 
her two companions had disappeared from the al¬ 
most bare sidewalks bordered by modest small 
shops, a few warehouses, and long rows of brick 
houses. 

Thomas was farther behind than he had believed. 
There was a long stretch of pavement before he 
could turn into the narrow entrance into which he 
had just seen the tall agent step. Remembering 
the directions given him at the landing, he quaked 
a little and really did hope that he would get there 
after all the shooting was over. 


TOM AND HANSON MEET 295 

He drew near to the door on which his eyes had 
been fastened. 

“ How shall I know which flat they’re in? ” he 
asked himself. He did not relish the possibility of 
getting into the wrong one and stirring up another 
row over himself. 

But he was spared this embarrassment. As he 
gingerly stepped into the little square entrance that 
reeked of stale food and hot rubberoid stair-cover¬ 
ing, he saw, through an open door on the first land¬ 
ing, a cheaply furnished living-room, where the tall 
agent was watching for him. 

“ Come on up,” invited the agent. 

Thomas stepped hesitatingly into the room. 

“ Easier than we ever expected. They didn’t 
have a chance to reach for their irons. We’ve just 
started a little nosing around, but haven’t uncov¬ 
ered much yet. Maybe later. Come into the 
dining-room and look them over.” 

With shiny handcuffs on their wrists the three 
prisoners sat on stiff chairs against the blank wall, 
while the two agents, with backs to the windows, 
sat facing them with their right hands in their coat 
pockets. Thomas knew they were covering the 
three smugglers with their revolvers. 

“ Here’s mine,” said Thomas, handing over the 
gun loaned to him, glad to be relieved of its weight. 

The woman was not nearly so coarse or villainous 


296 


IN SINGAPORE 


as Thomas would have expected, had he thought 
about it at all. She gazed past the guards in un¬ 
noticing contempt for them. The man who had 
rowed the boat looked—except for his shirt-sleeves 
—like a young bank clerk. He fidgeted. 

Then Thomas took a step. 

“ Hanson! ” he exclaimed. 

The three agents stirred. 

“ Know this man? ” asked the chief. 

“ Never saw him before,” growled Hanson be¬ 
fore Thomas could reply. 

Thomas could have slapped the brute’s face. He 
pushed against the small dining table and leaned 
over it to stare straight into Hanson’s eyes. 

“ Never saw me? ” he stormed as he shook a fist 
at the burly hulk on the small chair. “ Never saw 
me? What a lie! ” Then he lowered his voice to 
express all the anger and contempt he felt for the 
creature sitting before him. “ Well, you should 
have seen me. Let me tell you a few things. Who 
knocked you over into the river below Calcutta 
after you spoiled Sven’s good hat? Who? I did. 
Who saw my sick father deliver opium in cases to 
you in Singapore? I did! And who was able to 
get my father away from all that and bring him 
back here to decent surroundings where he may 
have some things to tell about your doings? I did.” 

He paused for a second, aware that he had gone 



TOM AND HANSON MEET 297 

too far in that statement. As far as he could tell, 
his father might never remember any of his deal¬ 
ings with Hanson and his gang. But he was not 
going to let the handcuffed man off so easily. 

“ When you came pounding that morning in 
Singapore on the rear entrance to The Yellow 
Poppy, do you know that just inside was Dubois, 
who hoped to meet you? ” 

For the first time the expression on Hanson’s 
face showed that he realized whom Thomas was 
talking about. The youth’s reference to his father 
had meant nothing to him. 

“ Do you know who prevented him from keeping 
his appointment with you that morning? I did! 
And when he knew you were outside that door, and 
he tried to call to you, do you know who shut him 
up? I did. Do you remember the scuffle inside 
and the crash of some one falling down the steps? 
Who kept him from getting to you even then, 
though it meant knocking him insensible? Who 
did that? I did. Never saw me before, indeed! 
Well, I’ve seen you and enough of you. Bah!” 
He swept one hand across another as if to brush 
off a spot of dirt. “ I hope I never have to look 
at your disgusting face again.” 

The strength of his emotions made him feel sick 
at his stomach. He held to the edge of the table 
and turned his head towards the sentries. 


298 IN SINGAPORE 

“You don’t need me, do you? May I go? ” 

“ Certainly.” 

They had enough sense not to ask, “ Do you feel 
all right? ” 

At the bottom of the few steps, Thomas stopped 
and steadied himself against the wall, while he 
rubbed his forehead and took several deep breaths. 

It was sickening! The marvelous experiences of 
the Atlantic Ocean, the beauty of the Mediter¬ 
ranean, the fantastic cities of India, the brown 
races of the Malay states, the thrill of finding his 
father, the excitement (almost unbelievable now) 
of his visits to The Yellow Poppy, the talks with 
Inspector Allmayer, the association with Sing Ho 
or Wan Tu, the delights of the long voyage home, 
the ride in the launch with the Federal detectives 
—all these amazing exploits had to end with a burst 
of anger in a squalid flat in a run-down section 
of his own unromantic home city. 

He could have cried with vexation. 

“ What’s the use? ” he wailed to himself. 

Then he reproved himself. 

“ I’d better get to the Johnsons’ as soon as I 
can. Even after all this I may arrive before my 
father does, if he’s been delayed by the customs in¬ 
spectors over his baggage—our baggage, I mean.” 

And off he hurried to find a wandering taxicab. 



CHAPTER XXIV 


SECRET SERVICE 

“ And so,” concluded Wan Tu, looking around 
at the small group gathered about his desk in a 
small office in the Federal Building in New York, 
and bringing his eyes back to Thomas, “ there’s 
the money waiting for you to take it.” 

“ But I never thought of getting money for it 
when I was doing it,” protested Thomas. 

“ That has nothing to do with it,” resumed Wan 
Tu. “ That’s the best part about it. You didn’t 
do anything for money, but you get a reward just 
the same.” 

“ Suppose I don’t take it? ” The boy was puz¬ 
zled. It did not seem quite right that all the time 
he was working to find and bring home his father, 
he should have been doing something to bring a 
monetary reward to himself. 

“No one else can have it. It just lies idly in the 
Treasury Department until years outlaw any claim 
that can be made upon it. Then it goes back to the 
nation’s funds.” 

“ You say it’s the law? ” asked Thomas. 

Wan Tu smiled patiently. 

“ You were much quicker at grasping new ideas 

299 


300 


IN SINGAPORE 


out in Singapore when I told them to you,” he 
reminded him. “ And you weren’t much surprised 
when you found that I was here long before you 
arrived.” 

“ That’s because I know about fast liners across 
the Pacific from Shanghai and fast trains across 
the United States,” answered Thomas in self- 
defense. “ But this money matter is all new to 
me.” 

“ Thus says the law.” Wan Tu turned over an 
opened pamphlet. “ A person giving information 
to the government leading to the recovery, and 
I’m reading from the law itself now, 4 of any duties 
withheld, or any fine, penalty, or forfeiture in¬ 
curred ’ is entitled to twenty-five per cent of the 
amount recovered.” 

“ It works in some mighty peculiar ways,” broke 
in the chief of the launch that had followed the case 
of opium. “ Some are funny. An American 
woman in Paris buys a lot of jewelry and asks the 
jeweler to hide it in the lining of her leather travel¬ 
ing bag. She never tells a soul on the steamer. 
But lo behold! On the dock the customs examiner 
looks at her baggage, rips open the lining, and finds 
the jewels, and she pays two thousand dollars in 
duties and penalties. How did he know they were 
there? The jeweler in Paris who put them there 
sent the information, and while the woman tells a 


SECRET SERVICE 301 

hundred people of the amazing cunning of the 
customs men the quiet fellow over in Paris gets 
five hundred dollars. No wonder they can sell 
jewelry cheap over there! ,, 

“ It seems so much money,” Thomas commented 
on his own case. 

Wan Tu drew from a drawer a small batch of 
clippings from newspapers neatly fastened to¬ 
gether. 

“ Here are a few sums of money that the public 
has heard about because the cases got into the pa¬ 
pers.” He selected a few. “ A trunk seized on the 
Pacific Coast; opium valued at about sixty thou¬ 
sand dollars. Too bad you didn’t detect that one, 
Thomas. No; here’s a better story. Seven trunks 
in the baggage of a whole family from China. Es¬ 
timated value, five hundred thousand dollars. 
Here’s the seizure of a private yacht. Owner had 
to pay twenty-four thousand dollars to get it back 
again. Some poor sailor will get six thousand dol¬ 
lars—if he has the courage to claim it.” 

“ I’m not afraid to claim it,” Thomas broke out. 

“ Good! ” declared Wan Tu. “ Just sign these 
two forms, then.” 

Thomas did. 

“ Have these delivered at once,” Wan Tu di¬ 
rected the dignified elderly messenger who ap¬ 
peared in answer to his ring. 



302 


IN SINGAPORE 


There was a pause, during which the launch chief 
nodded as a sign to Wan Tu. 

“ You’ve enjoyed all these experiences, haven’t 
you? ” the polished Chinese opened upon Thomas. 

“ Yes, indeed,” the youth glowed. 

“ Like to do more of this kind of work? ” 

“ No,” said Thomas decidedly. Then to soften 
the edge of his curt refusal, he added, “You know 
I have my work pretty well planned, and my fa¬ 
ther’s here now.” 

“ One minute,” broke in the chief. “ You’re 
young enough to change your work. I was twenty- 
five when I began this. And came from the inland 
mountains, too. Your father’s a seafaring man. 
Will he always stay here? I ask you, Mr. Dubois.” 

“ I can’t say what I’ll do,” Dubois replied slowly 
and anxiously. “ I mustn’t stand in my boy’s 
way.” 

“ Right, I say,” agreed the chief. “We always 
need good recruits for the service. I’m on the look¬ 
out all the time. Your boy’s been around the world 
already. He’s worked under Air. Wan Tu here, 
known all over as a top-notcher in his field. What 
more could you ask? ” 

“ It’s not what I ask,” replied Dubois. “ Thomas 
must make his own decisions.” He swept his eyes 
around challengingly. “ He’s able to, isn’t he? ” 

At that speech Thomas could have jumped for 


SECRET SERVICE 


803 


joy. He knew now that his father and he were one 
in emotion and sentiment. 

Wan Tu brought the discussion back to its cen¬ 
tral thread. 

“ Why not? ” he asked Thomas directly. 

“ Because I’m going to be a marine architect.” 

“ Going to build boats? ” 

“ I want to.” 

Thomas stopped with his lips apart. Those two 
words; what did they sound like? “I want to” 
and “Wan Tu.” They were almost the same! 
Could there be any relation between “ want to ” 
and the name of the shrewd man at the desk before 
him? Thomas knew that this person—trained, 
cultured, powerful, capable—must be one of the 
influential internationalists of the world, whose 
abilities and work pass beyond the narrow bound¬ 
aries of countries and stretch over all the barriers 
and prejudices of nationalities and races. “ Want 
to ” and “ Wan Tu ” ! 

He stared at his friend’s face and saw a twinkle 
light up the eyes and a smile break about the 
mouth. 

“ Your name! ” he exploded. 

“ Yes, since you’ve discovered it. Sing Ho or 
Wan Tu, as you please.” 

“ But who are you? ” 

His low tone expressed his awed admiration for 



304 


IN SINGAPORE 


this amazing man, who proceeded to pass him a 
small white card. The youth looked at its French 
entries without understanding them fully. 

“ What do these mean? ” Thomas persisted. 

“ That is where you can always learn where I 
may be. As for my real name, what does that 
signify? We may meet there some time—at 
Geneva, in Switzerland. Just think of me as an 
agent in the investigation of the drug traffic for 
the League of Nations.” 

“And to think I never guessed your name!” 
stuttered Thomas. 

“ By the way.” The internationalist rose. 
“ You may be able to use that name. As one word, 
it looks Oriental. W-A-N-T-U, Wantu. You 
may be able to have it painted on a boat.” 

“ I will,” promised Thomas. 

And he did. 





































































































